Ice Angel (2 page)

O
VER
the next two weeks, word spread quickly about Lady Vane. Isabella’s wish to remain disengaged from society only caused more speculation about her past, her future, and if she were poor or wealthy. Her smiting celestial beauty was sufficient to arouse interest and that, coupled with a curious air of self-containment and sadness, gave her a tangible glow of mystery.

While she was regularly seen driving in the park with her son and widowed aunt, she chose never to do so at the most popular times. She refused to be drawn on polite queries into her background, but it was impossible to take offence since she managed somehow to parry every enquiry in a firm but
courteous
way, leaving the questioner little wiser but utterly charmed. It was therefore unsurprising that gossip regarding the reasons for her reticence soon reached a feverish pitch and everyone in London seemed to know that she had been given the epithet of the ‘Ice Angel’ by some wag because of her beauty and reserve.

Isabella, who remained unaware of this speculation, spent her first weeks in London organizing her household. The house in Curzon Street had been offered to her by her good friend Dr Dalton; he had urged Isabella to use his sister Lady Bingham’s property as she was in Bath and would not require it again until the following spring. Although worried at the prospect of living among crowds, Isabella had become resigned to the fact that she had little option but to accept, even though she suspected the minimal sum requested in rent was nowhere near the usual rate for such an exclusive property.

Her dead husband’s estate had not been entailed and while the attorney had informed Isabella that the sale of the manor and its contents would cover the considerable debts outstanding, only a few hundred pounds a year would be left to support her and her family.

Isabella had expected little, but to hear she was to receive nothing more than this small sum had come as a terrible blow and she had fretted about their future. Then, at her most desperate time when the sale was almost complete, Great Uncle James’s bequest had arrived like manna from Heaven. It had been followed quickly by the offer to lease Lady Bingham’s London house, along with her servants and carriages. Isabella’s spirits had risen at this improvement in her fortunes and she had set off for Sussex determined to make the best of whatever state she found Haystacks in.

To find Haystacks was a more substantial estate than she had envisaged was a surprise, but to discover that her great uncle had also left her a respectable amount of money was a pleasant shock. Isabella had not realized that Uncle James possessed any wealth, nor could she understand why he had chosen to will it to her. However, she was very grateful that her relative had provided the means for longed-for independence and an opportunity to put the past behind her. The
responsibility
of Dominic and her aunt weighed heavily on her slim shoulders, but she carried it without complaint – it was
infinitely
preferable to the situation she had endured since her marriage. Sometimes Isabella found it hard to believe she was still only twenty-four. When she looked in the mirror, her features remained those of the girl who had married Sir Edward Vane, but her character was greatly altered.

Isabella had never given her beauty much consideration and now she paid no regard to it at all. She did not see the cloud of silken gold hair framing classical features, the pair of speaking blue eyes fringed with long dark lashes, the short straight nose and the luscious full mouth reflected in her mirror. During her marriage, there had been no occasion to embellish her looks for social functions and she had ceased trying to please her husband. She would have therefore been incredulous had she been told she was beautiful enough to make gentlemen stand and stare when she passed by. When she was seventeen, her dying father had considered it his duty to see her married before leaving her alone in the world apart from her widowed aunt and a distant elderly uncle. That her father had considered their neighbour Sir Edward Vane a suitable bridegroom had surprised their acquaintances, and at the time Isabella had not understood the reasons for their murmured dissent. Edward’s reputation was a little wild, but she had agreed to the match after being dazzled by the dashing young man she had met on a handful of occasions. She had also wanted to comfort her desperately ill father who was anxious to see the ceremony take place before he died.

With the benefit of hindsight, however, she understood that she had no more business to marry Edward Vane than she had any of the other young men she had met in her brief time out in society. Isabella was only passably fond of him and knew nothing of his character. Still, with the age-old optimism and innocence of youth, she had believed she and Edward would deal well enough together. She would not enjoy the London season her father had always promised, but Isabella had consoled herself with the thought that her new husband would show her the city’s delights when they were married.

How wrong she had been. Isabella had not realized the truth about Edward until after their marriage and then it was too late. Appalled by her wretched error of judgement, Isabella had blamed no one else for the situation she found herself in. The marriage had not been forced on her and she knew that her father had acted with the best of intentions. Besides, he could have had no notion of Edward’s true character either, as Edward had kept it well hidden. Isabella was relieved that her father had died shortly after the ceremony – at least he had not witnessed what happened afterwards.

Her husband’s behaviour had manifested itself after the wedding and Isabella’s nightmare had begun. Any optimism and hope had been effectively crushed in the years that followed and they became social outcasts. Isabella was not sorry for this, since she was too embarrassed and saddened by her situation to wish it to be observed by anyone else.

Now, because of her marriage, she had changed: the trusting, naïve girl had gone forever, to be replaced by a wary young woman. Isabella had no wish to expose herself to the questioning, albeit so far polite, of the
ton
, since she could barely analyse her past with equanimity, let alone discuss it with strangers. She was therefore in no mood to accompany Harriet to Lady Pargeter’s evening party, despite the pleadings of her aunt during that same afternoon.

‘You must come, Isabella; I cannot go alone. Everyone will ask why you are not there, and so many other questions, that I shall become muddled and say the wrong thing,’ said Harriet, who had resorted to uttering her pleas from behind a handkerchief, which was touched occasionally to the corner of her eye.

‘Of course you can go alone – you do not need me to act as a chaperon,’ observed her niece. ‘I will not ask you to forgo any pleasure, but I have no desire to seek out company, Harriet. As for being indiscreet, confine your conversation to the weather and the entertainment on offer and you will be quite safe.’

‘I will try, but it will be difficult when everyone is asking about you and Dominic. May I not tell them a little about our circumstances to satisfy their curiosity?’

‘No,’ replied Isabella firmly. ‘If details about my marriage should somehow emerge, there would be gossip and I could not bear it. Not that I care a rush for my own feelings, but I wish to avoid any whispers reaching Dominic’s ears.’

‘I do not want that either, but people will be talking and surely it can do no harm to give out the minimum of facts about our situation?’ said Harriet.

Isabella fell silent, considering this. After a few moments, she replied, ‘I suppose that may be preferable to allowing all manner of ridiculous theories to emerge.’ Eying her aunt’s speculative look with amusement, she added, ‘But you must only disclose the bare essentials, Harriet.’

‘Of course – just that you are a widow and that Edward died over a year ago. It would not, I agree, be proper to give out the circumstances that led to his death.’ Her voice brimmed with disapproval and the bitterness her normally placid soul still held towards Isabella’s dead husband was apparent in every syllable.

‘I could not endure any details on that subject being divulged,’ admitted Isabella. ‘My greatest concern is that Dominic will hear rumours before I have explained to him what occurred, and I do not want hearsay to influence him.’

‘Edward’s sins have nothing to do with Dominic,’ declared Harriet, putting aside her embroidery to regard Isabella directly. ‘He will not follow in his father’s footsteps, I am sure of it, for his character is very different. And you cannot be held responsible for Edward’s actions, Isabella. No one could have done more, despite causing yourself further distress in the process. I’ll never understand why your father thought your interests would be best served by marrying Edward. We would have managed if you had come to live with me in London, but I suppose we must allow that William did not know Edward’s character and perhaps his judgement was impaired by illness. Edward’s behaviour was shocking and I cannot forgive or forget it.’

‘Do not remind me,’ said Isabella, in a voice that wavered.

Immediately contrite, Harriet put a comforting arm around her niece’s shoulders. ‘Forgive my foolish tongue,’ she said gently. ‘Indeed, I had no wish to distress you.’

‘I know, Harriet,’ she murmured, ‘and I should not still find it upsetting, but it will take time to forget his abominable conduct. He never cared for me – he wanted my money which he soon wasted anyway – and I grew to loathe him. Perhaps I could have coped with straightforward neglect, but for him to have
contemplated
….’ Isabella’s voice trailed away and she paused, a shocked expression on her face. ‘I should not speak ill of the dead, but I mean it – every word.’

‘Nonsense, Isabella! You speak the truth and I shall not chide you for it; sometimes I think you have been too restrained about the matter,’ said Harriet. ‘But now it is time you began to live in the world again, if only for Dominic’s sake, so I beg you will reconsider accompanying me this evening. It may save gossip about your behaviour reaching Dominic.’

‘Is that possible?’ asked Isabella, turning her troubled gaze towards her aunt.

‘I don’t know, but people will talk so if you do not accept some invitations. Society might christen you an odd creature if you refuse every invitation, rather than merely consider you a reserved young woman who is civil enough to attend a few select functions, but not such a will-o’-the-wisp to flit to every
entertainment
London has to offer now you have put off your mourning clothes.’

Isabella bit her lip thoughtfully. ‘I do not rejoice at the prospect, but perhaps I could attend a few small events.’

‘It will be for the best, and you will outshine all the beauties in London without putting yourself to any effort.’

Glancing at Harriet from under her lashes, Isabella said, ‘I am agreeing because I do not wish to cause unnecessary gossip – I have no intention of attracting any gentleman’s attention.’

‘I did not doubt that for an instant, my dear,’ replied her aunt primly.

That same morning, in the library of his town house in Berkeley Square, Harry Cavanagh, third Earl of Bramwell, was arguing in a good-natured fashion with his friend, Mr Frederick Isherwood, about their plans for the evening ahead.

Lord Bramwell, who sat behind the large oak desk which dominated the book-lined room, declared, ‘Freddy, I’ve no inclination to attend a party where everyone makes tedious small talk. There is no relief to be had even at the card tables – they are inhabited by vicious old tabbies.’

‘Now that’s too strong, Hal,’ remonstrated Mr Isherwood, using the diminutive form of his friend’s name favoured by his family and close acquaintances. ‘No need to refer to my aunt as a vicious old tabby. She’s no such thing; in fact, she’s a good sort.’

‘My apologies, Freddy – I was not, of course, including Lady Pargeter in my sweeping dismissal of London dowagers,’ replied his lordship with a smile. ‘But you must agree that such an affair is dull work and I have an early start for Brighton tomorrow if the weather holds fine.’

Freddy, lounging in the leather chair opposite, started forward in surprise at this. ‘Good God, so you’ve accepted Kendray’s bet after all! Have you run mad? There’s no way it can be done.’

‘On the contrary, I have not only accepted the bet, but I shall beat his time by at least fifteen minutes. The odds on my success are currently ten to one and even you should risk a wager at such an attractive price.’

‘Fifteen minutes!’ said his friend. He shook his head in disbelief, ‘Can’t be done. Not without you ending up in a ditch with a broken neck.’

A laugh escaped Lord Bramwell. ‘Show a little faith in my abilities, Freddy! London to Brighton in four and a half hours is feasible and there will be no need to break my neck to achieve it.’

Mr Isherwood was unconvinced. ‘Baintree made a similar boast last year and failed. Couldn’t show his face in town for three weeks out of embarrassment, as I recall.’

‘But I never boast,’ protested Hal. ‘Having made allowances for my excellent team and new curricle, the matter is not in doubt. It will also provide sport to enliven a dreary day – London is thin of company and I crave a little entertainment. With my mother and Julia still down at Chenning Court, Theodore becoming uncommonly interested in his books after the lark he kicked up at Oxford, and Lukas and Hugo safely at school, even my animated family seem to be remarkably well behaved at present and requiring no attention from me.’

‘Is Julia coming to London soon?’ asked Mr Isherwood, with feigned nonchalance.

Freddy’s attempts to appear indifferent to the arrival of Hal’s sister made his companion’s eyes gleam with amusement. ‘She and my mother will be here next week. As you are aware, it is Julia’s first season and that has meant the removal of holland covers from the rest of this place for the first time in years.’ Hal raised an eyebrow and looked about the room. ‘Lord knows, I had forgotten it was so vast, but my mother is fond of it and I suppose we must have somewhere to accommodate all the young men anxious to beat a path to Julia’s door.’