14 Negotiation

I an's room had no trace of Izzy's perfume in it. An army of maids had been in and swept it clear of any remnant of her, so that now the room smelt overpoweringly of beeswax polish and roses from the garden. Still, he could imagine her lying in the bed, her lovely hair spread over the pillow, for she never plaited or bound it at night. On the few occasions when they had been obliged to share a room, he had stayed awake for hours just to watch her. It was the only time she was completely still. However restless she was when awake, in sleep she could lie motionless for hours at a time, only the steady rise and fall of her chest to reassure him that she still breathed.

Wycliffe looked around the room with disfavour, his gaze taking in the roses on the wallpaper and the several vases of blooms.

"It is somewhat… flowery , my lord."

"Mr Davenport assures me it is the best room in the house, but perhaps we could manage with fewer vases of roses, do you think?"

"I'll see to it, my lord. The grey waistcoat this evening, my lord, or the silver? The family is formal at dinner, I am told, so I've laid out your knee breeches."

"The grey, I think. I am in a grey mood. Is there water for a bath?"

"Not at such short notice, my lord, but if you can't bathe, at least you won't starve. There's food enough for an army downstairs."

"Or for a ball," Ian said absently. "Wycliffe, I need to write a note to be sent to Lochmaben. Find a groom able to take it for me, will you?"

"Today, my lord?"

"Today, yes. As soon as I have written it, and he is to wait for a reply."

Ian's note was brief and to the point.

‘To the Countess of Rennington, Lochmaben Castle. Madam, I have reached Harringdon Hall to find Izzy gone north, I suspect to Strathinver. Have you had any word of her? If she is there, on no account tell her that I am so close, or she may bolt again. I will be there as soon as I can. I hope you are well, and also the duke and duchess. Respectfully yours, Farramont.'

Having dispatched it north, he had nothing left to do but fret.

In the saloon before dinner, Davenport introduced him around the room. He remembered two of Davenport's sisters — more colourless girls. He knew their husbands better. Lord Foskett was a sensible man of the same political persuasion as Ian, and Sir Hannibal Shrubb was a regular face in the clubs and card rooms of town in the season. The other two sisters and their husbands were new to him.

The remnants of the Plowman family, the parents and a young man, were next. The mother and son had the terrified expressions of those from the merchant class unused to mingling with members of the peerage, but the father was made of sterner stuff.

"So you're that Lady Farramont's husband, are you? What are you about, sir, to let her go scampering about the countryside on her own, disrupting the lives of good Christian folk who've never done her a scrap of harm?"

Ian smiled. "I confess, I have never found a way of preventing Lady Farramont from scampering wherever and whenever she wishes. I should not like a wife who sits tamely at home with her embroidery day after day."

"Well, we differ there, for I like a woman to do as she's bid."

"Like your daughter, perhaps?" Ian said, softening the words with a smile. "Women are unaccountable creatures, are they not, Mr Plowman?"

He gave a low chuckle. "Aye, that's true enough. Ruthie's always been a good girl, on the whole. A bit inclined to talk back, but nothing to lose sleep over. But this! All arranged, the banns read, the contract signed and sealed, and now she won't have him. And now he says he won't have her, neither, not if she's so unwilling she makes a run for it. Well, we're off home first thing Monday morning, and that's an end to it."

Ian made some non-committal remark and allowed himself to be led on. The next to be introduced was Sophie Hearle. If he had met her on the street, he could not have put a name to her, but her face was vaguely familiar.

"Lord Farramont! I cannot tell you how pleased I am that you are here. Izzy has gone, as I am sure you know, but you have not come all this way only to turn back now, have you? You will go after her, I am sure."

"That is my plan. She has gone to Strathinver, I take it?"

She looked crestfallen. "You know what she is about, then. I do not approve and I have told her so. In fact, we fell out over it rather. She became very angry when I tried to reason with her. Everyone thinks she has gone to Lochmaben, but her intention is to go to Strathinver and throw herself at Lord Kiltarlity."

A spasm of pure agony passed through Ian. She had decided, then. He was to be cast aside and she would marry Robert Osborn, now that he was an earl.

Mrs Hearle rested a hand on his sleeve. "I am so sorry — so very sorry. But you must fight for her, my lord. You must not give way to despair. Perhaps he is already married, like Mr Marsden, or perhaps she will quarrel with him, as she did with Mr Davenport."

Davenport chuckled, acknowledging the truth of it. Ian's mood lightened at once. How like Izzy! But there was one puzzle he needed an answer to. "Mrs Hearle, is your brother with you?"

"My… my brother? What makes you think that?"

If her evasive answer did not tell him that she was concealing some secret, her scarlet face would have given the game away.

"Mrs Hearle, I have been following you and Lady Farramont from Durham, and I know there was a gentleman travelling with you. I should like to know who he is. Davenport thinks it is the groom — is that so?"

Mrs Hearle licked her lips nervously, her hands twisting together. "Barty… his name is Barty. He is a friend of my brother's from India, who helped him when he first returned… Olly was very ill, he almost died, but Barty saved him." Then, with relief, "Ah, here is Rumble."

"Dinner is served, madam," the butler intoned.

Ian found himself in the place of honour beside Mrs Davenport, with one of the daughters, Lady Foskett, on his other side. He found such dinners rather a trial, for he was not one who enjoyed trivial chatter. Amongst men, he could talk comfortably of affairs of the world, or the management of estates, or even sporting matters, if required. With ladies, however, his creativity often faltered, unless Izzy were there to inspire him, or perhaps to goad him. ‘You were very dull tonight, Farramont,' she would say with laughter in her voice, as they drove home from an evening engagement. ‘You were silent for most of the second course.' And he would laugh too and assure her he would do better next time, light-hearted with joy that she had even noticed how much he talked. Or else he would say, ‘I was distracted by the brilliance of your conversation. How could I possibly compete?' Which was true, of course. When she was there, he barely noticed anything else.

Sometimes when she was not there, he could imagine her, hearing the distinctive note of her voice that he could always detect in a crowd, her hands moving constantly as she talked or else picking idly at her food. He could almost smell her perfume. Then he could talk more easily, knowing that a little copy of her was always in his mind, always with him. Even when Izzy was far, far away, his imagination could conjure her at will.

But tonight he could not concentrate for wondering where she was and what she was doing. His imagination could not place her at the Davenports' table amusing the staid Sir Hannibal Shrubb if she might instead be entertaining the dangerously charming Robert Osborn, and bestowing her wit and vivacity on him. The very thought was a pain lancing through him, turning his insides to water and filling him with the deepest dread. The quiet voice inside him, his conscience, perhaps, nudged him. You want her to be happy, surely? And if Robert Osborn can make her happy…? But it was no use. He wanted her for himself, his for all time, because he was too cowardly to face the unbearable agony of losing her.

It was a relief when the ladies withdrew. At least for a little while, he could drink his port in silence and not be expected to join in the talk. Besides, the principal subject under discussion was the recalcitrant Miss Plowman, about which Ian could say little, since his own wife was responsible for the girl's defection. But after a while, beneath the strident grumblings of Mr Plowman and the diplomatically soothing notes of Sir Hannibal, Ian detected something more.

"May I ask you something, Plowman?" he said. "What was your object in promoting this marriage? Was it merely a fine match for your daughter, or was there another interest behind it?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean, my lord," Plowman said, bristling. "I want my girl to make a good marriage, naturally."

"Of course you do, but I wondered if perhaps it was a way of easing your path to acceptance amongst your new neighbours. It is not easy, I think, to uproot yourselves from your former life and put down new roots in a very different habitat. A marriage would allow you to become part of this new society much more quickly."

Plowman nodded slowly. "You're a plain speaker like your wife, my lord. I like that. It's not quite the way you say it. I know well enough I'll never be accepted here… never really be a gentleman, for all I've got the land and the big house now. I'm not even sure I want the children to be accepted. It'd change them… make them ashamed of their old Pa, and I'd hate that. But I do like to be on good terms with my neighbours. Mr Sydney was the one who came to me with the idea — he'd marry Ruthie and I'd give her the western fields, which are all but cut off from the rest of my land anyway, so it's no hardship. I was happy to oblige him and that's a fact, and what makes me cross about this whole business is that now everything's worse than before, and I'm at odds with folk I'd like to be friendly with, and no means to make things right."

"The marriage may be out of the question now," Ian said, "but you still own this tract of land that Mr Davenport would like the use of. So why not sell it to him?"

"We cannot afford to buy it," Davenport said sorrowfully.

"Then lease it," Ian said. "Plowman makes some money from the deal, and you get the use of it. A simple business arrangement, and if things change and the marriage comes off later, the original dowry contract will apply."

"That all sounds very rational," Sydney said ruefully, "but what my father really wants is to have that piece of land back as part of the Davenport estate, as it once was. It is contiguous with our land, but it was sold some years ago when there was a pressing need for capital."

"To pay my debts," the elder Mr Davenport said. "I got into difficulties when I was barely of age… some gaming debts, a great foolishness, and my father was obliged to sell several pieces of land to pay for it. I swore that I would recover all of it, and I have, except for this one piece. I should very much like to complete this last duty before I die."

"Have you thought of borrowing the money to buy it outright?"

"We have," Sydney said, "but banks require some surety to set against the loan, which would mean a mortgage."

"Then a loan from a friend," Ian said. "Would that be acceptable to you? No mortgage, no interest, simply repay it as and when you can. An agreement between gentlemen."

"And who'd be friend enough to do that?" Plowman said.

"I would," Ian said.

***

W hen he went through to the saloon to join the ladies, Ian saw that Sophie Hearle was sitting a little apart from the others, watching the doors anxiously. When she saw him, her expression lightened and she waved him over.

"How may I be of service, Mrs Hearle?"

"Lord Farramont, I owe you an apology. Will you sit down? I am sure you must have realised that I was less than honest with you earlier." She spoke in a low voice, too low to carry far with the rising level of chatter in the room. "I am sorry for it, but there are reasons… compelling reasons why I did not wish to talk openly then. I have told Izzy the truth, however, and I shall now tell you, but I should not like this to spread further. It might put… someone I care about at risk."

"If you honour me with your confidences, Mrs Hearle, you may be sure your secrets will go no further."

She paused for a moment, gathering her thoughts. "You were quite correct to suspect that my brother accompanied us on our wanderings. I imagine you saw the registers at the inns we stayed at… or the hotel in Scarborough. He signed under his own name. He was staying with me in Durham, recovering from the illness that had afflicted him on his journey from India, when Izzy came to see me. When she proposed that I accompany her on her travels and I told her about Olly, she was happy to include him, too, and it has been wonderful for him — good food and nothing to worry him has brought him on wonderfully. But when we realised that Izzy was bound for Harringdon…"

She paused, suddenly looking anxious.

"Your brother is not here," Ian said gently. "In fact, the Davenports know nothing of his whereabouts."

"No. It is better so."

"But this Barty person—"

She smiled suddenly. "A good friend — the best of friends, for he brought Olly home from India, and looked after him when he was ill. When we left with Izzy, Barty followed us. But let me tell you the whole story."

Ian listened in silence. Some of the company had begun a noisy round game, so there was no danger that they would be overheard, but even so, Mrs Hearle's eyes darted about, constantly on the watch for anyone approaching. If anyone came near, she would switch immediately to some neutral topic of conversation, only resuming when it was impossible for them to be overheard.

He made no comment, merely listening, for it seemed to him that perhaps she exaggerated the danger, as some females were wont to do. No doubt when her brother came of age, the lawyers would settle the question of ownership of Bayton House very swiftly, and all her fears would prove to be groundless. In the meantime, the secrecy would do no harm.

By the time she had related all the details of the case, the hour was well advanced, and many of the company were retreating to find their beds. Sophie went, too, and Davenport joined Ian in his quiet corner of the saloon, armed with the brandy decanter and a couple of glasses. Only Lord Foskett, Sir Hannibal Shrubb and a couple of the Davenport cousins still lingered at the other end of the room, hunched over the card table.

"I cannot thank you enough for stepping in like that at dinner," Davenport said. "Are you sure… I do not wish to insult you, Farramont, but you must have expenses enough of your own, without tossing out large sums to all and sundry."

"You are not precisely all and sundry, my friend, and I can afford it well enough."

"Then it is as well you married Izzy rather than me, for I could never have afforded an extravagant wife."

Ian's eyebrows rose a little. "Extravagant? I would not have described her so."

"No? All those expensive gowns? And her jewels, Farramont! She must have cost you a fortune in jewels."

Ian smiled. "A few baubles is a small price to pay for the privilege of sharing my life with her. As for clothes, she has her pin money for that and she never exceeds it."

"Do you truly think she has gone to Strathinver… to Kiltarlity? We all supposed she would go to Lochmaben. Her mother is there, after all."

"I have been following her for several weeks now, and she went straight to Marsden as soon as he returned to Marsden Hall, and then here. Having quarrelled with both Marsden and you, I cannot imagine where else she would go next except to Osborn… or the Earl of Kiltarlity, as he is now."

"But after five years of marriage to you… she would not… surely she would not run off and marry him… would she? I know she is technically unmarried now but… would she truly do it?"

"With Izzy, one can never predict what she will do, but she was in love with him five years ago, so perhaps she would. The heart is unfathomable, Davenport. People do the strangest things when they are in love. It is a kind of madness, where reason cannot bloom."

"But would he still want her under these circumstances?"

"Again, one cannot predict. All I can say is that if the cases were reversed, I would certainly want her, so my assumption is that yes, he would. And she is there now, Davenport." His voice cracked. "I have lost her, I know it."

"You poor fellow! We all wanted to marry her five years ago, and it was a severe blow to lose her to you, but… Lord, I cannot imagine how hard it must be to be married to her for five years and then to lose her. It must be… no, there are no words for it."

Ian could only lower his head. Deep inside him, all the desperate fears of the last few weeks rose up to choke him. How would he survive without her? How could he possibly live without her? Her death would be a dark enough grief, but this would be worse, far worse.

Rumble the butler loomed out of the darkness beyond the reach of the guttering candles. "A message for Lord Farramont, sir. The groom has returned from Lochmaben."

Ian's head shot up. "So soon? I did not expect a reply this evening."

"We sent our very best groom on a fast horse, my lord, and Lochmaben sent him back on another," he said with some pride, holding out a silver salver with a sealed letter on it.

Ian snatched it eagerly and tore it open.

‘My dear Ian, Do not panic. Izzy is safe at Lochmaben, and since she has no carriage here, we have some control over her movements. She has twice called upon the Osborns, once with the duchess and once with me, regular morning calls of no more than half an hour, with Lord Kiltarlity's mother and sisters present as well as Lord Kiltarlity himself. Izzy has not been alone with him, nor do we intend that she shall be. Nothing was said or done on either side to cause concern. Indeed, he seems rather flummoxed by her presence, and not especially happy to see her. I will let you know at once if there are any developments. Yours optimistically, Caroline Rennington.'

Ian laughed out loud, handing the letter to Davenport to read, and fishing out two gold coins from his purse. "Thank you, Rumble, and please give this to your very best groom, with my sincere thanks."

"This is indeed good news, my friend," Davenport said when Rumble had departed in a glow of dignified satisfaction. "She is safe for now, but Lord, what a chase she has led you! She was always a little wild, but exciting. No one could hold a candle to her. That season… you said that love is like a madness, and certainly we were all a little mad that spring. You were the only sensible one of us. Do you remember that ridiculous Venetian breakfast, where it came on to rain? Izzy had gone off somewhere with Osborn and got caught out, stuck in a grotto or temple or some such. Whether they stayed there until the rain stopped or came back soaking wet, there was going to be a scandal. But you went out in the pouring rain with two umbrellas, so that it would look as if you and Osborn both had the idea of rescuing her, and no one would know she was alone with him. That was clever, Farramont. You were always good at picking up the pieces when things went wrong."

"And I am still doing it," Ian said with a sigh. "I had to beat some sense into Marsden — that man is extraordinarily clutch-fisted. I never knew a man so reluctant to open his purse. And here I am, helping to tidy up the mess Izzy has left behind again. In fact— What is that?"

From outside the room, a man's voice, loud and angry, could be heard. "I have to see her — at once, if you please! It is imperative!"

Rumble's placating voice intervened, but the shouting continued.

"Then you must wake her! There is not a moment to be lost. He must be rescued!"