Promise Me Tonight (9 page)

That was when the others began to swarm. Isabella’s excellent breeding coupled with her remarkable beauty did not go unnoticed by men of a certain age—and some rather past that certain age—who felt the pressure to settle down, start a nursery, and preserve the family name. And so the proposals began.

Since her parents insisted it was only polite to allow a man to declare himself, Izzie was forced to sit through every offer of marriage, and each one was more monotonous and tedious than the last. She was treated to recitations of estate holdings, down to the very last acre, sheep, and silver epergne. She stifled yawns through family histories tracing all the way back to the Conqueror. And then there were the men who took her acceptance for granted and lectured her on her future duties, which, Isabella thought, explained a great deal about why they were not yet wed.

By the time the Season ended and the Westons returned to the country, Isabella had turned down a duke, the second son of a marquess, an earl, two barons, a Russian prince, three wealthy tradesmen, a preening poet, and a Scottish laird—eleven proposals and not one of them from James Sheffield.

She hadn’t had so much as a letter from him.

And that stung.

She couldn’t—wouldn’t—let herself believe the attraction had all been one sided, but the fact remained that he had been able to walk away from whatever burned between them.

He had been able to walk away from her, while she had been ruined for all other men.

A bitter laugh escaped her.

Not exactly the sort of progress she had hoped for.

Not
.

At
.

All
.

Before Isabella knew it, December was upon them and with it the dreadfully tedious undertaking of helping her mother address invitations to their annual Twelfth Night ball. Her mother always liked to work in the library, which had never bothered Isabella before, but she now found it terribly distracting. Her cheeks were perpetually crimson, causing her mother to ask repeatedly whether she needed to sit farther away from the fire.

And if she did manage to focus, it was only a matter of time before she caught a scent of the rosemary and bay leaves tied to the bunches of mistletoe hanging throughout the house. Thoughts of mistletoe naturally led to thoughts of kissing, and thoughts of kissing led, of course, to thoughts of James, and then Isabella got distracted all over again.

“Izzie!” Olivia hissed, kicking her under the table.

“Ow!” Isabella yelped, and jumped, nearly oversetting her inkwell. “What was that for?”

“Girls?” Lady Weston looked up. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes,” Olivia said. “I was just warning Izzie that her penmanship was getting a bit sloppy.”

“You
kicked
me!” Izzie protested.

“I was trying to be subtle,” Olivia ground out.

“Oh dear,” Lady Weston said, and made a clucking noise. She had come over to inspect the damage and was leaning over Isabella’s shoulder. “Oh dear,” she repeated.

Izzie frowned. True, her mind hadn’t been entirely focused on the invitations she’d been addressing, but it wasn’t exactly what one would call a stimulating activity. It was thoughts of stimulating activities that had distracted her in the first place. . . . With a sinking feeling in her stomach, Izzie glanced down at the paper before her.

“Oh dear,” she blurted out, echoing her mother’s distress. After copying out Baron Bridgeman’s direction, Izzie had absentmindedly embellished the creamy paper with drawings of interlocking hearts and wreaths of flowers, all containing various permutations of her and James’s names. Another invitation sitting in the finished pile bore no address at all; Izzie had filled the space instead with marriage vows. On yet another she had sketched herself and James locked in a passionate embrace.

Cheeks flaming, Isabella snatched up that particular envelope just as her mother was reaching for it to take a closer look. Izzie ripped the damning evidence in half and crumpled the pieces into a tight ball as she stood, walked over to the large fireplace, and threw them in.

“Olivia,” her mother said, “I believe we’ve done enough invitations for today. Why don’t you go upstairs? I am certain Mrs. Daniels could use your help in the schoolroom.”

“But—”

“No.” Lady Weston’s voice was firm. “I need to speak with your sister. Alone,” she added, when Olivia made no move to leave.

“Fine,” Livvy huffed. “I’m only the one who noticed it in the first place,” she grumbled, shutting the door behind her with more force than was strictly necessary.

“Actually, Mama,” Izzie said, edging toward the door herself, “I think I am feeling a bit feverish. Perhaps I should go lie—”

Lady Weston gestured to a pair of comfortable wing-back chairs by the fireplace. “Sit,” she commanded, her tone brooking no room for argument.

Izzie gave her mother a look that said she was not at all happy about it, but she did as she was told. Her mother tugged the other heavy chair to directly face Isabella, and then seated herself. She took a deep breath as if readying herself for what was to be an unpleasant conversation.

“My dear,” she said, leaning forward to place a hand on Izzie’s knee, “I know you have feelings for James.”

“If by feelings you mean love, then yes, I love him.”

“Darling, your affection for James has never been in question, but . . .”

“But?” Izzie prompted.

“But,” her mother said with a sigh, “I cannot help wondering if you are so fixated on James that you have closed your mind and your heart to anyone else.”

“There is no one else for me. Only James.”

“You didn’t give any of your other suitors a fair chance,” Lady Weston protested.

“Yes, I did.”

“Really? Name two.”

“Stimpson and Brantley,” Isabella shot back, though in truth she’d given each of them far more than what her mother would probably consider a fair chance.

“The former disgusted me,” she continued, “and the latter evoked no warmer feelings than those one would expect from such a long-standing friendship. Just the sight of James makes my heart race and my insides get all quivery and—”

“And yet we must face the facts,” her mother finished for her. “James does not seem to reciprocate your feelings.”

“But he kissed me!” Izzie blurted out, then clapped her hands over her mouth.

“He did
what
?” Lady Weston squawked.

“Er, well . . .” Actually
she
had kissed
him
, but she would have to be on the rack before she would confess such brazen behavior to her mother.

“Isabella Anne Weston,” her mother threatened.

“All right, he kissed me. I admit it.” Izzie raised her hands in surrender. “It was the night of my ball. I was crying, and he felt sorry for me.”

“Mmmm . . .” Lady Weston gazed at her, silently assessing. “And that was all, was it?”

Isabella flushed and crossed her arms over her chest in defiance. “Do you truly wish to hear the details?”

Her mother thought for a moment before grimacing. “No, I suppose I don’t, but you may as well know that a gentleman may kiss a lady without his heart or any of the finer feelings being involved.”

“Oh, there were
feelings
involved,” Izzie muttered under her breath.

Not quietly enough, apparently, for Lady Weston flushed bright red. “I presume that this . . . uh . . . incident did not go much beyond kissing and that you are . . . er . . . all in one piece, so to speak?”

“Eh?”

Her mother looked pained.

“Mama?”

Lady Weston drew in a deep breath. “Yes?”

“I still don’t understand what you mean about being all in one piece.”

Her mother groaned. “This isn’t something I should have to explain until your wedding night.”

“Oh!” Izzie’s eyes grew wide with sudden comprehension. “You wanted to know if James and I were like Venus and Mars.”

“I beg your pardon,” her mother said. “Did you say Venus and Mars?”

Isabella nodded. “Yes, like the pictures in the book I found in—well, it’s not important where I found it, and I only looked at it because I thought it was so odd to find a religious tract in . . . the place where I found it. Which is not important,” she added again for good measure.

“I am afraid you’ve lost me. A religious tract?”

“That’s just it!” Izzie waved her hands in frustration. “It wasn’t religious at all, but the title was so misleading.
Godly Love
, I think it was called.”

“Ah.” Lady Weston nodded. “I believe I begin to understand. I can also imagine where you found it or, rather, whose possession it was in. I presume it has moved along with its owner to his bachelor lodgings so as not to corrupt any of my other children. Well, my other children aside from Olivia,” she clarified, “since I can’t imagine you kept such a find to yourself.”

Isabella’s blush proclaimed her guilt.

“Now, back to the subject at hand—I trust you and James were not like”—Lady Weston swallowed hard—

“Venus and Mars.”

“Oh no!” Izzie exclaimed with horror.

Her mother breathed a huge sigh of relief. “Thank God!”

“It was more like Juno and Jupiter.”

Lady Weston buried her face in her hands and made a choking sound. Isabella couldn’t tell if she was laughing or crying. Maybe both.

“Mama, if it makes you feel any better, I don’t believe I have been compromised. At least not past redemption.”

Her mother looked up, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. “Believe me, darling, that makes me very happy, indeed.” Then her face grew somber. “What does not make me happy, and I am certain has you rather miserable, is James’s continued absence.”

Isabella nodded glumly.

“Now, I know you don’t wish to hear this, but maybe it’s time to face that James does not return your feelings.”

“But—”

“No, you must listen to me. In holding out for James, you have turned down many eligible suitors, men who may not have made your heart race, but who were all proposing marriage. Sometimes love is not the
coup de foudre
, as the French say; it is not always love at first sight. But love can grow between two people. Common interests and similar beliefs lead to friendship, which in turn can lead to love.”

Izzie slowly digested her mother’s words; they did not sit well. She squirmed in her chair, longing to voice her disagreement but knowing it was wiser not to argue.

“Dearest,” Lady Weston continued, “it is not that I am asking you to give up on James entirely—indeed, nothing would give me greater happiness than having him become a son in truth—but I would urge you to take some notice of the other men whose acquaintance you make. You might meet a man who suits you admirably, with whom you could build a life and a family. You do want children, do you not?”

Isabella nodded. She
did
want children—James’s children. But it was probably best not to voice that sentiment aloud. She somehow had a feeling her mother wouldn’t appreciate it.

“So you’ll try?” Lady Weston asked anxiously.

“Uh . . .” Izzie tried frantically to figure out what her mother was talking about.

“Just make a little effort. Don’t dismiss a gentleman out of hand because he isn’t James. I only want for you to be happy, but you must open your mind to the possibility that there is not a single, straight path one walks on through life. You must be willing to follow the twists and turns of fate to find happiness, nor can you simply expect it to find you. Do you understand what I mean?”

“Yes, Mama.”

“Good. And will you promise to make an effort with your suitors next Season?”

Izzie sighed. How could she refuse her mother’s earnest entreaty?

“All right,” she agreed, praying fervently that something would bring James home before she had to make good on it.

Chapter 7

I do not know why people claim to love surprises. It is all well and good to love a good surprise, but I have yet to meet a person who liked a bad one. I certainly do not, and I wish a certain person whose name begins with “H” and ends with “enry,” who is home from school for the holidays, was not so fond of leaving them in Livvy’s and my room.

From the correspondence of Miss Isabella Weston,

age twelve

Letter to her aunt Katherine, Marchioness of Sheldon, following

a week of most unpleasant shocks of the aquatic,

reptilian, and insectile nature—December 1790

Belmore Hall, County Kerry, Ireland

March 1798

“
J
ames,” she whispered.

Hearing his name on her lips, exhaled on a shivery breath, sent chills straight down his spine. His blood started to pound in hard, slow waves. He groaned, turning over in the bed to bring her closer. He was hard and aching, ready to explode, but his questing arms met only air.

James abruptly woke up and realized he was alone.