Chapter 5

Against his better judgment, Isaac decided to join everyone on the excursion to Steep Holm. Shefford, who'd continued to try to persuade him to attend, was very pleased. Isaac said he was going in order to stop him from yammering on about it. In reality, he was going because of Miss Penrose. However, he wasn't admitting that to anyone, not even himself, really.

He'd thought of her far too much since the luncheon the other day and seeing her at the hotel yesterday had been an unexpected boon. She'd looked so fresh and bright, her cheeks rosy, her lips curled into her nearly ever-present smile. He'd been unable to keep his eyes from her, hoping she would take time to speak with him. And when she did…he'd been foolish enough to say he wasn't coming today. But that had been before she'd told him she wished he would be here, that doing so meant they would see one another three days in a row.

After that, he'd changed his mind despite knowing he should stay away from her. It was only one day, and he'd be leaving soon.

Isaac and Shefford had ridden to the dock in Isaac's coach, along with Lady Minerva and Miss Dangerfield. Stepping down, Isaac tipped his head up to look at the frustratingly blue sky. Not a rain cloud in sight, and while it was breezy, the wind wasn't troublesome enough to prevent their journey. Pity, for he'd rather hoped a surprise storm might roll in.

He was willing to suffer a great deal of anxiety just to spend time with Miss Penrose. What on earth was wrong with him? He ought to turn back to the Grove right now, citing some work he needed to finish.

Except there she was, standing next to her cousin, Somerton, along with their appointed chaperones, the Duke and Duchess of Wellesbourne. Dressed in a rather plain grayish-green walking dress, wisps of her honey-lightened brown hair fluttering against her temples beneath a straw bonnet, she fed something within him. Something that had lain dormant and was hungry for her curiosity and smiling provocation.

Isaac moved with the others to greet the rest of their party. Pulling his gaze from Miss Penrose, he eyed the boat sitting a little farther along the dock. The vessel looked solid, and it was much larger than the fishing boat he'd spent time on as a boy.

Then his gaze moved to the water, the grayish blue waves moving like a living, breathing—sinister—thing. Deciding to come seemed a poor idea indeed.

Miss Penrose approached him, her pretty features arranged in her signature smile. Her presence immediately soothed his anxiety, at least a little. "Good morning, my lord. I'm surprised, and delighted, to see you. The sea looks rather favorable, does it not?"

He glanced toward the water again, and a wave of unease washed over him, in spite of her calming presence. A wave like those cresting past the dock. Soon they would be on the boat bobbing atop them, completely at the mercy of the impetuous sea.

Isaac shuddered. And hoped Miss Penrose didn't notice.

She moved close to him and whispered, "Can I tell you a secret?"

Her scent of lilies and violets distracted him. He was grateful and fully turned his back to the sea. He fixed on Miss Penrose, allowing himself to be completely consumed by her. This reaction she provoked him in was nearly an obsession. One he hadn't felt in some time. Because he didn't allow himself to. Somehow, Miss Penrose had stolen past his defenses and elicited a sustained desire. Such thoughts brought Mary to mind, but he pushed them away.

"What is your secret?" He kept his voice low like hers and tried not to think of how they shared their secrets with one another.

She pressed her lips together, hesitating a moment. "I've decided I don't want to go on the boat."

He didn't believe her. She'd said just yesterday that she was inclined to go. "What changed your mind?"

"What changed your mind about coming today?" she asked, arching a brow at him.

She had him there. "You convinced me."

"Did I? Well, I'm sorry to have troubled you, because now I've changed my mind about going." She met his gaze with clear eyes, but he saw the hint of mischief behind them. "I'd prefer to collect shells on the beach."

"You could do that on Steep Holm," he countered, wondering if he could provoke her to say why she was really changing her mind. But did it matter?

Yes.She was choosing something he wanted. He needed to know if that was why she was doing it.

"I could," she allowed. "But Somerton informed me on the way here that if the sea is rough around the island, we may not even be able to go ashore."

Isaac grimaced faintly. To suffer a horrible trip in a bobbing boat just to have to turn around and come back was about the worst thing he could imagine. "I somehow missed that detail."

She raised her voice. "Pardon me, everyone, but I'm afraid I've changed my mind about going. I'm going to remain here and have my own picnic nearby."

"You can't stay by yourself," Lady Minerva said, her brow creasing.

"I'll stay with her," Isaac said without thinking.

"You would need a chaperone," the duchess said, sounding almost wistful. "I would offer to stay, but then who will chaperone on the boat?"

"Actually, I don't mind staying also," Miss Dangerfield put in. "But I am not a chaperone either." As Lady Minerva's companion, she was a friend who accompanied her everywhere. She did not, however, possess the requirements of a chaperone. Though she was apparently the eldest of the female set, she was neither a spinster nor a widow. And she was certainly not married. "Should we send for Mrs. Ogilvie?"

Chaperone requirements were laughable to Isaac. The only thing that made Wellesbourne and his wife acceptable chaperones was the fact that they were wed. And, in Isaac's experience, Mrs. Ogilvie nodded off often enough during her "duties" as to be completely ineffectual.

Miss Price cocked her head. "Why do we need a chaperone at all? Evan is my brother, and Min and Sheff are siblings. Seems as though those connections are proper and acceptable, particularly if Miss Dangerfield and Miss Penrose aren't coming."

"I can't argue with that logic," the duchess said. "I'm staying too, then." She looked to her husband and smiled. "You go ahead. I insist."

Wellesbourne kissed his wife's temple. "You are the best of women." He spoke softly, but Isaac heard. It was also impossible to miss the love the two of them shared. It would give some optimistic person hope that they could find the same. But not Isaac.

Shefford looked toward Isaac. "You can come along, then, since Miss Penrose will not be alone."

Panic tore through Isaac. He'd been so close to not having to set foot on that boat. Now there was no reason for him to stay.

"We need our own picnic," Miss Penrose said. "We'll take one of the baskets. Is it heavy? Lord Droxford, if you truly don't mind staying behind, you can carry it for us."

Isaac saw through her ruse. She was absolutely working to keep him off that boat. Because she knew what had happened to him and that he was anxious. No one had ever done anything like that for him.

That wasn't entirely true. He glanced toward Shefford, who'd stepped in and helped Isaac when he'd needed it most, when he hadn't a clue where to turn when Mary had become pregnant. And now Miss Penrose was behaving in the same manner—coming to his rescue.

"That would be helpful," Miss Dangerfield added. "But I don't want to keep you from the excursion."

"I would be honored to remain and help with your picnic," Isaac said, willing his muscles to relax and his pulse to slow.

Miss Penrose grinned at him. "Brilliant."

How was she not put off by him? His moodiness generally kept people from engaging with him, particularly women. Although, there were some who sought to catch his eye, for a brooding baron with a fortune was still a baron. With a fortune.

Miss Penrose was not a title or fortune hunter, however. He would stake his bees, of which he was most fond, on that. Neither would she want to marry him if she came to know him well, for she would see that he was truly a rogue, which she—and her friends—had vowed to avoid.

"Both baskets are already on the boat," Somerton said. "Do you want to fetch one?" he asked Isaac.

Sweat broke out along the back of Isaac's neck as a new surge of panic came over him.

Miss Penrose once again spoke up. "Pardon me, Lord Droxford, but would you mind if we took your coach to our picnic? You could go arrange that with your coachman."

Shefford started toward the boat. "I'll grab the basket."

As Isaac made his way to his coach, he wondered at the lengths Miss Penrose might have gone to in order to prevent him from having to get on the boat. There was no need for him to arrange things with his coachman, at least not in that moment.

Even so, he explained the change of plans to Davis, who nodded. Shefford came toward them with the basket from the boat and handed it to the coachman. Looking to Isaac, Shefford asked, "You sure you don't mind staying?"

"Not at all," Isaac said. "I shall look forward to hearing about the trip later."

Shefford narrowed his gaze. "Is this perhaps an elaborate plan to avoid going so you can return to the Grove and work? Or, perhaps you're going to leave entirely. Have we bored you already?"

Isaac nearly scowled at him. "Of course not. And I'm not returning to the Grove. I'm having a picnic with several ladies. Tell me which of us will have the better time."

"You make an intriguing argument. We shall compare notes later." Shefford flashed a grin, then took himself back to the others.

Those going on the excursion filed onto the boat. Isaac couldn't even look at them once they were on board. How would he have ever endured the trip?

Isaac helped the duchess into his coach, then Miss Dangerfield, and finally Miss Penrose. He held her hand slightly longer than necessary. "Thank you," he said softly.

To her credit, she said nothing. Though, her gaze burned into his and, along with her small smile, conveyed a distinct message: she'd been glad to help.

This growing attraction could be trouble. He held to a strict code under which he stayed clear of romantic entanglements, and Miss Penrose was threatening his resolve. Climbing into the coach, he swept those thoughts away in favor of thinking of what he'd narrowly avoided. With Miss Penrose's help.

Settling in beside her, he closed his eyes briefly and allowed the tension to flow out of him. As the coach moved away from the dock, he imagined darkness and agitations slithering away as if they were beasts. This was what he'd done in his youth, when he'd had to learn to control his emotions lest he further infuriate his father, who'd expected Isaac to be unfailingly obedient and respectful. He hadn't been interested in Isaac's fears, worries, or disappointments.

"Life is a disappointment," Isaac's father would say.

And yet, when his father stepped into the pulpit on Sundays, he would preach optimism and kindness, saying that they must help one another and be grateful for what they'd been given. It was as if he became a different person. There had been the rector, and there had been Isaac's father.

"I must say, I am quite relieved not to be on that boat," the duchess said. "I just got over feeling queasy last week." She glanced toward Isaac. "My apologies, Lord Droxford. I didn't mean to speak of such things in your presence."

Wellesbourne had shared that they were expecting a child. Isaac assumed she was referring to that. He merely inclined his head.

"I wasn't terribly enthusiastic about it either," Miss Dangerfield said. She sat beside the duchess on the forward-facing seat. "But Min was so looking forward to it."

"You pretended to be eager too," the duchess said with a nod. "Pandora will be sorry I didn't go. She was looking forward to hearing all about it."

"It's too bad she wouldn't come," Miss Penrose noted. "But I understand why."

Because she preferred to avoid Bane's friends, or former friends if that was what they were. Isaac wondered how Bane felt about ruining a young woman. Did he even think of Miss Barclay at all?

Isaac shifted uncomfortably as his mind turned to Mary. He tried not to think of her, and sometimes, more often than he liked, really, he failed.

His thigh brushed Miss Penrose as he moved, and she turned her head toward him. He'd felt a blast of heat from the brief connection. Had she experienced the same? He moved away from her as much as space would allow.

They arrived at the location Isaac had selected for the picnic. They would be on a nice patch of grass with a view of the direction the boat would take to Steep Holm. He didn't particularly care to watch their progress, but reasoned the others might.

After exiting the coach, he helped the ladies down, one by one. His coachman handed him the picnic basket.

"Thank you. I imagine we'll be a few hours." They likely wouldn't even want a picnic lunch for some time as it was still midmorning. Indeed, the entire outing seemed almost absurd, as if it were an excuse to avoid something, which it was. Isaac inclined his head toward the basket. "Davis, take something for yourself."

Like most of the retainers at Wood End, the coachman had been in Isaac's employ since Isaac had inherited the barony four years ago. He was a hardworking fellow in his late thirties. "Thank you, my lord." Davis selected something wrapped in paper and tucked it into his pocket before moving to attend the horses.

Carrying the basket, Isaac followed the ladies to where Miss Dangerfield was spreading out a blanket. He waited until they were all seated before setting the basket on a corner. Then he stood nearby wondering what he ought to do. It felt awkward to be picnicking with three young ladies, even if one of them was actually a chaperone. He realized he could return to the Grove, even though he'd told Shefford he wouldn't. After Davis deposited him at the Grove, Isaac could send him back to fetch the ladies.

But he wouldn't abandon Miss Penrose. Not after she'd gone to such lengths to rescue him.

More accurately, he didn't want to leave her, even though he knew he should.

"Are you going to sit?" Miss Penrose asked. She patted the blanket beside her and smiled up at him.

Isaac sat down in the unoccupied quadrant of the blanket. How he wished it was just him and Miss Penrose.

Miss Dangerfield sent him a small, appreciative smile. "It was most kind of you to stay with us."

The duchess nodded. "Indeed, though I do wonder what we'll do for the duration of their excursion."

"I plan to walk along the beach shortly," Miss Penrose stated. "You are all welcome to join me."

"I think I'll stay," the duchess replied. "It's a marvelous day, and this is a picturesque view." She lifted her hand to her mouth as she yawned. "And perhaps I'm a little tired." She gave them a sheepish look.

Miss Dangerfield reached over and touched the duchess's skirt, giving her a sympathetic glance. "I'll stay with you."

The duchess smiled. "I'm such a dullard now that I'm carrying. I'm tired and, honestly, I am not the most charming person in the mornings. But at least I am feeling better than I was." She speared Isaac with a stare of abject apology. "Forgive me, I can't seem to keep myself from speaking of delicate matters."

"That is the consequence of choosing to stay behind with us," Miss Dangerfield said with a bright laugh, and the other ladies joined in.

"It is no consequence for me," Isaac said. "I daresay the other gentlemen should be jealous."

Miss Penrose arched a playful brow at him. "Careful, we may decide you're a rogue after all."

"You've decided I'm not?" Isaac's brain faltered. Was he…flirting?

"I have," Miss Penrose declared.

"She's convinced us as well," Miss Dangerfield said with a nod.

Before Isaac could chase that knowledge—that Miss Penrose had spoken of him to her friends, Miss Dangerfield added, "Though, I'd already concluded that you weren't after seeing you interact with the others at the Grove. You don't behave inappropriately. You seem, in fact, above reproach."

If they knew the truth, they would shun him—and rightfully so. His transgressions exceeded Bane's, whom they had turned their backs on. Isaac was uncomfortable with their assessment of him, but they couldn't know the truth about him nor would they ever. He would simply have to let them, including Miss Penrose, believe what they wished. Though they couldn't be more wrong about him. He was a rogue, and he had an abandoned family to prove it.

"Will you be attending the soiree at the Weston Hotel tomorrow?" the duchess asked him.

Pulling himself from his gloomy thoughts, he replied, "I'm considering it." He heard a stifled giggle and glanced toward Miss Penrose. She met his gaze with a knowing look, and he recalled their conversation from the luncheon. The shared moment filled him with a surprising warmth.

He'd forgotten what it felt like to share such things with another person. It was as if they had their own secret.

"I'm a bit parched," the duchess said. "Shall we have lemonade?"

Miss Penrose lifted the basket to the center of the blanket, demonstrating they hadn't needed his help at all. Would anyone notice? Would they deduce how Miss Penrose had aided him in avoiding the trip?

She set out four cups while Isaac plucked the bottle from the picnic basket. As he poured the lemonade into the ladies' cups, he felt strangely domestic. It was the presence of so many women, he reasoned. Growing up, his household had contained one woman, Mrs. Wilkes. She'd served in the roles of housekeeper, maid, and cook but hadn't lived at the rectory. She lived in Dunster and came to work during the day. Except on Sundays, per his father's edict.

"There's the boat," Miss Dangerfield said, pointing out to the water.

Isaac cast a few glances in that direction but then busied himself exchanging the lemonade for the ale and pouring it into his cup.

The duchess twitched her shoulder. "Can't say I regret staying."

"I hear the beach calling," Miss Penrose said. "Today is the day I will find the elusive intact cockleshell."

"Would you like assistance?" Isaac asked.

"I would, thank you. Perhaps you will bring me luck at last. I have found any number of cockleshell pieces, but not one that is whole."

Isaac rose and helped Miss Penrose to her feet. She asked her friends if they were certain they didn't wish to join them. They confirmed they were content to stay on the blanket.

"This way, we get the entire contents of the basket to ourselves," the duchess said with a devilish grin. "Did I mention I'm hungry much of the time? There I go again, revealing too much." She shooed them away. "Away with you so I can unburden myself to Ellis without feeling as though I'm being improper."

Miss Penrose curled her hand around Isaac's elbow and pulled him from the blanket. He didn't at all hesitate. Rather, he relished her touch and the impending time alone with her.

Flirting and now this. He was treading on dangerous ground.

They followed the path down to the sand. When they were a fair distance from the others, Isaac said what he'd been longing to say since the dock. "You wanted to go to Steep Holm. Don't lie and tell me you didn't. You were eager to go."

She exhaled. "You've caught me." Catching her lip between her teeth, she turned her head toward him. "But I thought it was more important to save you from having to make the trip. You looked so anxious."

He wasn't sure he liked that she saw that in him. Had anyone else? "That was exceedingly observant of you. And thoughtful." So thoughtful.

"It was the right thing to do, then? I confess I was nervous that my attempt would be foiled—either because you really did want to go, or someone would make it so you had to."

"That nearly happened."

Miss Penrose laughed as she bent to look at a shell. "I had to think fast, so I suggested we needed you to carry the basket."

"Which clearly you did not as evidenced by you hauling it to the center of the blanket," he said drily.

Her eyes rounded briefly, and her lips parted in realization. "I did, didn't I?" She giggled. "Hopefully, Persephone and Min didn't notice. I'm not sure it matters if they did. They likely won't think anything of it." She gave him an earnest look. "Your secret is safe with me."

He didn't doubt it. "I appreciate that. And your efforts. I was certain I was going to have to fetch the basket from the boat."

She pivoted toward him as they walked. "I know—it was a near disaster! Sending you to arrange our transportation was even more feeble than saying we needed you to carry the basket, but it was all I could come up with. If it had been windier, I would have loosed my bonnet as a distraction. I envisioned you chasing after it." Her eyes gleamed with mirth.

Isaac felt a surge of brightness.

She narrowed one eye at him. "The corner of your mouth…it's lifting. You are very nearly smiling. Yes, that is a half smile."

"It's a smirk," he clarified. "That's what my friends call it—the Droxford Smirk."

"You have an expression named after you and it's not a glower? Or a brood?" she asked with a laugh. "Is brood even a noun? My father would hate to hear me abusing the English language."

"I say it is now, and if your father is a decent man, he would agree." If he had the poor character to quarrel with his daughter, Isaac would not think well of him. Isaac stopped and faced her, growing serious, for that was what he did best. "What you did for me…I am very grateful. I didn't realize how much the trip would affect me until I stepped onto that dock today. I thought I could do it."

"I understand," she replied softly. "Perhaps one day you will be able to get onto a boat. But it didn't have to be today. Nor does it have to be with a crowd of people."

"We were hardly a crowd," he said, feeling another splash of light being this close to her. Alone.

"I suppose not." She flashed a brief smile. "There you go smirking again."

"It seems you are very good at provoking smirks."

While they'd walked, he noted that her gaze often scanned the sand. He realized he wasn't providing assistance in searching for the shell. He'd been far too distracted by her.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, taking her hand from his arm and dashing toward the water where the wave was receding. She picked something up.

When Isaac reached her side, he looked at the item in her palm. It was indeed a cockle, but it wasn't quite intact. "That's close," he observed.

"Yes, but I have several like this already," she said with a sigh. She dropped the shell back onto the wet sand. "Perhaps I should break them and paste them together to make a complete shell."

"I could do that for you," he offered before he realized she was joking. Of course she was. She wanted a whole cockleshell.

She smiled at him. "That is very sweet of you."

Sweet was not a word he'd ever heard used to describe himself. Isaac couldn't bring himself to correct her assessment.

"How long have you been collecting shells?" he asked.

"Since I was a child." She seemed to hesitate. "My mother left us when I was eight," she said softly. "After that, I stole into her room to see if she'd left anything behind. I found a pair of shells in a drawer. I kept them and eventually added to the collection."

Her mother left? Isaac's insides twisted. He would never have guessed she'd suffered such sadness. "Why did she leave?" He realized he was being as curious as she'd been with him.

Miss Penrose continued to scan the beach as they walked. "She wasn't happy. Apparently, she thought an actor from a passing theatre troupe would make her so."

"And did it?"

Her gaze flicked to his but only briefly. "I don't know. We never saw her again after she left, and she died about a year later. The actor sent us a letter. My father burned it, but I always thought it was kind of him to tell us."

"How do you not carry that with you?" The question was a bare whisper. He hadn't meant to ask it, but he had to know. His mother's death weighed heavily on him, and she hadn't abandoned him, not on purpose, anyway. While he had abandoned Mary and their child. What did she think of him now? Had she told their son about his father and how he'd left them? Did his son suffer for not having Isaac in his life?

Miss Penrose's shoulders lifted gently. "My grandfather told me I could be morose, as my father was, or I could choose to find joy every day. I didn't want to be sad." Now her gaze met his and held it. "That sounds overly simplistic, and perhaps it is, but that is what I do. I choose happiness and optimism."

That sounded so hard. And so unbelievably admirable. Isaac wanted nothing more than to remain with her, to borrow some of her joy.

Too late, he realized a wave was rushing toward them. The water hit their ankles as he swept her into his arms and hurried away from the water.

When they were on much drier sand, he slowly lowered her to the ground. But he didn't release her. Her hands around his neck made this feel like an embrace. He wanted to just stand there to savor her proximity and the intimacy of the moment.

Their gazes locked and held, and he felt an inexorable pull to kiss her. Her lips parted, as if she were inviting him to do so. His body quivered with anticipation.

Could he really kiss her and then leave Weston without regret? Of course he couldn't.

But the truth was that he would have regret either way.