Promise Me Tonight (3 page)

He stopped himself. That was unfair. Henry hadn’t accepted these offers, and even if he had, an introduction to Morgan or a dance with Stimpson wasn’t going to seal Isabella’s future.

Still, he decided to have a word with each gentleman—just a friendly chat—where he would make it clear that if so much as an improper finger was laid upon Isabella Weston, the culprit would answer to him—preferably with pistols at dawn.

“Look, Hal, I didn’t come all this way
not
to honor my promise. I gave my word to Isabella that I would dance with her, and I will.”

“But—”

“No.” Then, before Henry could resume his talk of Isabella’s suitors and their various bribes, James inquired after the rest of Henry’s family.

“Everyone’s fine, just fine,” Henry said. “Although I can’t think why you bother asking, because Mother must have written you much the same in her last letter.”

“She did,” James admitted with a grin, “but I never know if the important information is there. I think your mother could expound for fifteen pages on
Othello
and forget to mention that the house had burned down or that your butler had the plague.”

Henry laughed. “To the best of my knowledge, neither of those things has come to pass. Weston Manor remains intact, and Caldwell is in excellent health. With regard to
Othello
—that’s the one with the boor, right?”

“Moor,” James corrected. “But I daresay a man who strangles his wife is a boor, at the very least.”

“Eh?”

James opened his mouth to explain, but Henry shook his head and held up a hand. “Don’t bother.

He was still smiling later, after the men had left the club and were walking toward the family town house. His grandfather wouldn’t be in residence since he rarely left Sheffield Park, which was for the best given that, as the past several years spent in Ireland had evinced, James had no desire to be in the same country as the earl, let alone in the same house.

When they reached the hotel, James turned to Henry, who was continuing on to his own bachelor lodgings, and found himself reluctant to bid his best friend good night. “I’ll see you tomorrow at the ball, then?”

Henry nodded enthusiastically. “Between the party and having you home, Mother will be so distracted, she won’t have any time to lecture me.” He surprised James by grabbing him in a fierce, brief hug that came close to crushing all of his ribs. “It’s good to have you home,” he said gruffly.

“It’s good to be home,” James said automatically. As he watched his best friend saunter off down the street, he realized just how true it was. “It’s good to be home,” he said again softly.

The Weston Town House, London

The Following Evening

Isabella paced back and forth in her bedchamber, stopping every so often to peer in the full- length mirror and reassure herself that she looked her best. She wore a round gown of white lawn, drawn in below her breasts by a sash of aquamarine silk the color of her eyes; the sash was tied behind her in a double bow, the ends of which fell as low as the short train. The neckline and the cuffs of the short, puffed sleeves were trimmed with delicate alençon lace.

Her hair was dressed in loose curls and ringlets, held back from her face by a white satin bandeau embellished with pearls and fabric rosettes. A double strand of pearls, a birthday present from her parents, completed the ensemble. Yes, all in all, Izzie was very pleased.

She
did
wish the neckline were the tiniest bit lower, but her mother had held firm on that point. She tugged down on the material. There, perhaps that was a bit better. It seemed a shame to conceal what she had learned were two of her more alluring assets. Her cheeks had no need of pinching; the knowledge that she was finally going to see James had suffused her countenance with a soft pink flush.

Five years
. She hadn’t seen him in five interminably long years. It seemed impossible, but it was true. First, the European tour meant to last one year had stretched into two, and then James had gone to Ireland to deal with the property he had inherited from his mother.

She’d learned from Henry that James was turning the estate into a foundling home, a noble cause surely, and one that made her love him all the more because it was so in keeping with his kind, generous nature, but she wished it wouldn’t keep him so far away.

But now he was home—thanks to her rather brilliant foresight in garnering that promise—and it was time to introduce one James Sheffield to the new, improved and oh-so-adult Isabella Weston so they could get on with living the rest of their lives together. And the sooner the better, which was why she was going to make sure James Sheffield fell head over heels in love with her at the ball. And if she had to use some persuasive tactics . . .

Well, she wasn’t averse to the idea of hauling him into an alcove and kissing him senseless. She wasn’t sure exactly
how
to kiss someone senseless, but it always worked in novels. No one would blame her for throwing herself at him. He always had been too handsome for his own good. Just the sight of him caused her heart to flip-flop around in her chest.

Oh, she wished she could sneak out of her room and go find him that instant, but she had been warned—not exactly on pain of death, but on pain of something her mother promised would be extremely disagreeable—not to budge from her room until she was fetched for her so-called grand entrance. Izzie thought “grand” worked as a description only when used to measure the extent of the mortification she would suffer.

Her stomach pitched when she thought about soon having to curtsy and descend a long staircase while—under the intense scrutiny of everyone in attendance—wearing a dress with a train certain to trip her up and heeled slippers sure to catch in the aforementioned train.

The little supper she had managed to consume before getting dressed formed a hard ball in the pit of her stomach, and she suddenly felt overheated. She closed her eyes and was assaulted by a vision in which she tripped on the second stair and tumbled down the rest of the way, coming to rest in an ungainly heap at the base.

Isabella devoutly hoped her neck would prove to be broken, since that would be vastly preferable to having to stand up and face everyone.

She could do this, Izzie told herself. She’d managed her presentation to Queen Charlotte without making a cake of herself. Tonight was supposed to be enjoyable. And it would be . . . so long as she didn’t fall on her face.

She wished her sister Olivia were present to distract her, but Izzie had been given her own room now that she was officially “out.” She had complained to her parents that the arrangement meant that Livvy would also get her own room—a room that was actually a bit larger than the one Isabella had moved to—and
she
wouldn’t be out for at least another year.

That had been a mistake. Her mother had lectured her for nearly an hour on the bitter fate of all the starving children in England who would happily share the scullery maid’s quarters with a dozen other children if it gave them a roof over their heads. Izzie was of the opinion that the scullery maid’s room couldn’t possibly fit more than six or seven of even the most emaciated children, but she wisely forbore to comment. She did, after all, get the point.

A knock at the door jarred her out of her reverie. A glance at the clock confirmed her suspicion that it wasn’t yet time to go down, but she welcomed
any
diversion.

“Come,” she called out.

Henry entered the room, looked her up and down, and then motioned for her to turn around in a circle.

“Well? Do I look all right?”

“Damnation, Izzie, I’m going to have to fight them off with a stick,” Henry growled, enfolding her in a hug.

“Really? Ouch!” she exclaimed as something in Henry’s coat—something that felt like a rock—smashed into her ribs. “What in heaven’s name is in your pocket?”

Henry quickly let her go. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “I forgot that was there, but it’s a good thing, actually, or I might have forgotten to give it to you, and it’s the reason I came to your room in the first place.”

“And what is ‘it’?”

“Your birthday present, naturally.”

It wasn’t at all natural, as Izzie’s birthday had been in March, but Henry hadn’t been home then, and Izzie wasn’t going to quibble over the particulars when there was a present in the offing.

Henry reached into his waistcoat and pulled out a small velvet box. “I do realize it’s a bit late, but this seemed like the proper time,” he said, handing the box to her.

Isabella opened the box, and her eyes grew wide.

“Henry, I, uh, well . . .”

For the first time in her life, she was actually speechless. She took a deep breath and pasted a smile on her face.

“Oh!” she exclaimed with what she hoped sounded like happiness. “How lovely! It’s a . . . large gold ball . . . on a chain!”

Henry laughed. “It’s a good thing you’re not a gambler, Izzie. Your face gives everything away.” He reached into the box and unfastened a tiny clasp on the side of the ball. The two halves opened, and a chain of six miniature portraits spilled out: her parents; Henry; Olivia; identical twins, Cordelia and Imogen; Richard; baby Portia. It was her family, and she could cup them in the palm of her hand, look at them whenever she wanted, and take them with her wherever she went.

“Oh, Henry!” she sniffed. “It’s wonderful! Thank you!”

“Well, don’t cry,” he admonished.

“However did you manage it?”

“Livvy. The chit’s useful to have around at times. When she’s not buried in a book, she’s always sketching or working at her watercolors, so you never noticed a thing. I took her paintings, along with that set of miniatures Mother commissioned when Richard was born, to an artist in London. The hardest part was keeping it a secret.”

“You did an excellent job. I am quite overcome.”

“I’m glad you like it. Does this mean you’ll forgive me for abandoning you during your first Season?”

“Where are you escaping to this year?”

“Ireland. There are some new hunters I want to look at, and after, I figure it’s time I finally saw the orphanage, now that it’s nearly finished.”

“James is returning to Ireland straight away, then?”

Henry nodded. “Mother would have my head if I didn’t stay in town for at least another fortnight, but James is leaving tomorrow. You know he doesn’t like to stay in the same general vicinity as the earl any longer than he has to, and Sheffield Park is too close to London for comfort. I am surprised he came at all.”

“Of course he came. He promised me he would.”

“You and your promises,” Henry laughed. “Now I had best be getting downstairs. Mother will doubtless invent some new torture for me if I am not in place for your entrance.”

“She is still going to force you to dance with Miss Merriwether,” Izzie warned.

Henry groaned. “She’s made me promise three times today.”

“Now, now,” Izzie chided. “Miss Merriwether is very nice.”

“Yes,” Henry said. “Nice.” He said the word with utter distaste, as if it were such a terrible thing to be nice, and then moved to quit the room. “I’ll see you downstairs.”

He opened the door just as she remembered she had a favor to ask.

“Henry?”

“Yes?” He turned back to face her.

“Will you tell James I have saved the dance just before supper for him?”

He grunted his assent and was halfway out the door when she thought of something else.

“Henry!”

“
What?”

“Thank you again for my present. And for being my brother.”

He strode back into the room and wrapped her up in one of his huge, engulfing hugs.

“I love you,” she murmured.

“I love you, too.” He dropped a kiss on her head and left.

Alone once more, Izzie glared at the clock on the mantel, silently willing the hands to move faster. She gazed down at the portraits in her hand, her heart flooding with happiness at the sight of all the beloved faces and her mind overwhelmed by her brother having given her such a thoughtful gift.

He hadn’t always been so considerate. When he and James had come home during school holidays, all Izzie had wanted was to be with them. Naturally, they had been intent on escaping her. Izzie was nothing if not persistent, though, and she had usually managed to find them out wherever they were hiding.

They had never looked very happy to see her, though James had been far better at concealing his annoyance than Henry. With James’s intervention, Izzie’s presence had been tolerated, which was yet another reason why she loved him.

Sometimes she had gotten to play the damsel in distress, the princess locked up in a tall tower guarded by a ferocious dragon—boring, that. And once in a very rare while, if the boys were in a good mood, she had been promoted to pirate or Indian brave or, her absolute favorite, the bold, dashing highwayman. Those had been glorious days.

Izzie had always loved playing dress-up and make-believe. It helped her hang on to the childhood world still inhabited by most of her siblings, a world she was reluctant to leave. Tonight was the beginning of that journey into the perilous and unknown waters of adulthood, a prospect at once exciting and frightening. But James, her anchor, waited for her downstairs, and adulthood was just another adventure, wasn’t it? And tonight she would be a queen—
a pirate queen—
beautiful and regal and perhaps a little bit reckless and wicked.