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There were other considerations. As Lady Isham she would have her own establishment, with the powers that an ancient title and vast wealth brought always in their train. And she could help Giles. Her mother would live out her days in comfort, and Letty, with her portion restored, might yet attain her heart’s desire. The reasons for accepting his lordship’s offer were overwhelming.
Yet every instinct warned her against it. She could not banish the darker side of the bargain from her mind. Isham was everything she detested in a man. He was an inveterate gambler, a roué and above all, one who had little regard for women. Was this to be her destiny, and the end of all her dreams of happiness?
She lay awake for hours, staring into the darkness, but by morning her decision had been made.
Next day her mirror revealed little evidence of her sleepless night, apart from a trace of shadow beneath the clear hazel eyes. Her creamy skin glowed with its usual health. As she tugged a brush through the heavy mass of auburn hair she sighed. What would she give now for the services of that fashionable London hairdresser with his gifted way of winding her locks into a style which emphasised her high cheekbones and the clean lines of her profile.
She did her best, but the result left much to be desired.
Still, it would not matter to Isham, she decided. He was not looking for a mistress, merely some female who would not disgrace his name and would provide him with an heir.
Well, she would not disgrace him. Her looks were not in the common way of fashion, but no one would mistake her for anything other than a woman of breeding. An unfortunate turn of phrase, she admitted to herself. It would not be pleasant to be regarded as a brood-mare.
The implications made her stomach churn, and she found that she was trembling. How could she let Isham touch her? Every sense recoiled from the idea. Stifling her fears, she hurried down to the parlour.
There she found the Vicar in conversation with her mother. William Perceval, Sir James’s younger brother, held the living, and had done so for many years. A kindly man, he was a favourite with both the Rushford girls.
India kissed him warmly, and asked about his family.
“Your Aunt Elizabeth is well,” he smiled. “Though she dislikes these cold, dank days of winter. The girls, of course, do not notice. That is one of the advantages of youth.”
India smiled. Her aunt made no secret of the fact that she detested winters spent in the draughty vicarage, try as she might to bear the conditions with Christian fortitude.
The Vicar shot a keen glance at his niece’s face. “Your mama has been speaking of Lord Isham’s offer,” he continued. “I was surprised to receive her message asking me to call so early…”
India did not look at her mama. As she had suspected, the story of the Vicar’s proposed visit had been a lie, designed to prevent her visiting Hester.
“We are always glad to see you,” she said truthfully.
“And this offer? How do you feel about it?”
“It came as a shock to us.” India would go no further, but the Vicar was concerned.
He had never had much time for Mrs Rushford—a hysteric and a hypochondriac if ever he saw one. He was well aware of the means she used to get her way. Not for the first time, he gave thanks to heaven that his brother had chosen her sister rather than herself to be his wife.
As for the girls…Poor Letty was looking distraught and India, though controlling her emotions, was clearly under a great strain.
There was little he could do to help them, without appearing to interfere too obviously. For the moment he contented himself with observing that as marriage was for life even the dazzling prospect of this unexpected offer should be given a great deal of thought.
Mrs Rushford frowned at him. “Why, Vicar, as their uncle I expect you to have the welfare of my girls at heart. What is there to think about? Such a chance is unlikely to come their way again…”
“And do my nieces agree?” he asked lightly, aware of the air of tension in the room.
The ensuing silence gave him his answer, and Mrs Rushford gave him a dagger-look, which she then attempted to hide.
“What do young girls know of these things?” she asked. “They must be guided by their elders.”
“I see.” It was no more than the truth. He saw very well how matters lay. The girls were to be hounded until one or the other accepted Lord Isham. Well, in the last resort he would refuse to marry an unwilling bride, however wealthy her suitor.
Mrs Rushford saw his set expression and made haste to change the subject. “Have you heard no more of the Marchioness?” she asked. “That is a strange business.”
“Indeed it is. Rumour is rife, but we cannot place any reliance on such gossip. So many months have passed since she was seen that we must pray that no harm has befallen her.”
“It is said that Sywell himself has murdered her,” Mrs Rushford announced with relish.
“A rumour entirely without foundation, Isabel. The Marquis is ill-tempered, and capable of violence, but I cannot believe that he would visit it upon his wife. He doted on her.”
“Then where can she be?”
“No one seems able to answer that question. I attempted to question the Marquis, but I am unwelcome at the Abbey. As you know, I was against this marriage from the start. The union of May and December will never serve, and Louise Hanslope was little more than a child when she took it into her head to marry a man three times her age. It could only lead to disaster.”
“You think it important then, for both parties to be in complete accord?” India asked quietly.
“I do.” The Vicar smiled at her. “Marriage is a difficult state at the best of times. In the first flush of passion most people do not think it so, but it demands self-control, tolerance, and sometimes heavy sacrifice. Such qualities are not common in our society. Best of all, a life partner should also be a friend.”
“It seems idyllic, but almost a fantasy,” she agreed.
“It can happen, my dear. And when it does nothing can be more fulfilling. Well, I must save my sermon until Sunday, but you must come to see me if you feel the need.”
The door had scarcely closed upon him before Isabel Rushford voiced her displeasure.
“Why, I wonder, would your uncle consider that either of you girls might wish to see him privately? Your own mama is the person to advise you.”
“I think he meant only to be kind,” Letty murmured. “After all, it is his calling…”
Mrs Rushford sniffed. Her regular attendance at the Abbey services owed nothing to religion, but she enjoyed her role as the tragic widow, and the opportunity to gossip. Now she turned on India.
“I must hope that you intend to change your gown before his lordship’s visit,” she snapped. “That bombazine is positively dreary.”
“It is the warmest thing I have,” India told her simply. “Mama, the weather is so bitter, and this house is very cold. You will not expect me to freeze to please Lord Isham?”
“Must you defy me at every turn? I know that the black silk with the inset trimming has been turned and dyed, but it is more becoming. You will please wear it.”
Delighted though she was by Isham’s offer, Mrs Rushford viewed his coming visit with some apprehension. Privately she expected him to choose Letty as his bride, in spite of his suggestion that the girls should decide between them. At all costs India must be prevented from seeing him alone. She had given her promise not to cause him to withdraw, but would she be able to keep to it?
She now felt that she must play her highest card. “Think of your brother,” she coaxed. “He is sure to learn of something through Isham. His lordship must have several livings in his gift.”
Even Letty giggled. “Giles as a parson, Mama? He would not hear of it!”
“Hold your tongue, you foolish child! Giles will decide for himself.”
“Most certainly he will!” India gave her sister a speaking glance. The transformation in their mother was extraordinary.
Vanished was yesterday’s shrinking invalid. Mrs Rushford was already relishing her position as mother of the future Lady Isham. Naturally, her influence would be welcomed by her powerful relatives.
“Isham does not strike me as a man who will be easily persuaded,” India murmured.
“Perhaps not at the moment, but a wife is in a privileged position. Then it will be different, mark my words!”
The prospect gave India no comfort. The sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach was increasing by the minute as the dreaded interview approached. Now she prayed that his lordship had reconsidered his outrageous proposal. He had had time to sleep on it. Perhaps he had already changed his mind.
She could not rely upon such a happy outcome, and she could do no more than pick at the simple meal of cold meats which awaited them.
“Eat up, my girl!” her mother urged. “A lack of food will cause you to feel faint. Isham must not believe you to be subject to fits of the vapours and you are already much too pale. It is such a pity that we are still in mourning. I wonder if you should change again…perhaps the grey?”
India rebelled at that. “Mama, it cannot matter. What we wear is not of the least importance. Lord Isham met us yesterday, when we wore our plain round morning-gowns. He can be under no illusion as to our looks.”
“Do as I say!” came the furious retort. “Letty must change too. At present you remind me of nothing so much as washerwomen.”
There was nothing more to be said, but when they reached Letty’s room she seized India’s hand and looked at her with anguished eyes.
“India, I beg of you! Do not go through with this! You should not sacrifice yourself for me.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” India lied gallantly. “Nothing has been decided yet. You know that I hope to win more time…”
“Pray don’t try to deceive me. I know you too well…You mean to take him, don’t you?”
“I mean to talk to him. As I said, we do not know him. Possibly he is more reasonable than we imagine. I may be able to persuade him to wait, at least until Giles returns.”
“But how will that help us?”
“Giles may have heard of some position which would restore our fortunes…” Privately, India thought this unlikely, but she refused to give up hope. “Meantime, I must see Isham on my own. Mama will not hear of a delay. One of us will be handfasted to that insolent creature before we can blink an eye.”
Letty still looked troubled. She only half believed her sister, but she promised to talk their mama into allowing India a private interview with his lordship.
“But only if you will give me your word…?”
“Letty, I am not the stuff of martyrs. If all else fails I might agree to an engagement. I could break it later.”
“I suppose so.” Letty gave her a watery smile. “I feel so selfish, dearest, to have refused outright.”
“Never that.” India looked at the clock. “Help me now. Isham is sure to be on time…”
She was right. They had not long to wait. As the clock struck four Isham was announced and shown into the parlour.
As he bowed to her mother India stole a critical look at him. He had exchanged his riding garb for more formal garb, but the perfect tailoring of his plain blue coat served only to emphasise his massive, heavily muscled frame. There was nothing of the dandy about him and she guessed correctly that once dressed he gave his attire no further thought.
His manner was correct, his bow perfection, but his presence shattered the genteel atmosphere in the parlour. India had the impression that a strong wind had blown away all the conventions of polite society.
There was no obvious reason for this. An aristocrat to his fingertips, like many big men he moved with ease and grace. To her relief she was spared his penetrating stare on this occasion.
Instead, he engaged her mother in conversation. “I hope I see you much recovered, ma’am,” he murmured. “I was distressed to learn of your indisposition.”
“It was nothing, my lord.” Mrs Rushford waved aside all mention of her previous ailments. “Merely a headache brought on by this bitter weather. Sir, it is a pleasure to welcome you to Abbot’s Quincey.”
Isham bowed again. “You know this part of the country well?”
“I was born here, and so were my girls at…at the Grange.”
“Ah, yes!” Isham betrayed no trace of embarrassment at this mention of his recently acquired property. “I have just come from there. There is much to be done, I fear. Perhaps you will be good enough to advise me?”
India glanced at her sister. His lordship had found a sure way to her mother’s heart. For the next half-hour she was forced to listen to a discussion about the necessary improvements to the Grange, and the merits of the various workmen in the village.
She glanced down at her hands and found that they were trembling. She hid them at once in the folds of her gown but nothing could remedy the leaden feeling in the pit of her stomach. She had summoned all her courage for the coming interview but it was deserting her fast. Now she longed only to get it over with.
It seemed an age before her mother rose and summoned Letty to her side.
“Will you excuse us, sir?” she said. “India would like to speak to you.”
Isham merely bowed and held the door for them. As it closed he turned and leaned against it. For a panic-stricken moment India felt trapped. Once again she was forced to suffer that long, assessing stare.
“So you are to be the sacrificial lamb?” his lordship drawled at last. “What a fate, my dear!”
Chapter Three
It was an unfortunate beginning, but India kept her eyes fixed firmly on the carpet.
“You speak in riddles, sir,” she said. “Won’t you sit down?” Her shaking hands she kept well hidden. It was impossible to think with that large figure looming over her.
Isham sank into a chair. “Demure, Miss Rushford? The role does not suit you. I prefer the termagant who barred my entrance yesterday…”
India longed to tell him that his preference was not of the slightest interest to her, but she refused to be drawn. There was too much at stake. “You wished to speak to me, I believe?”
“Oh, I thought you wished to speak to me.” The lazy eyes roved over her, and she was reminded of Letty’s comment. Now she too felt naked beneath this creature’s gaze. Anger stiffened her resolve. The man was impossible. Well, he should find her a worthy adversary.
“My uncle tells me that you seek a bride,” she said in icy tones. “I understand that you have offered for me.”
“For either of you, Miss Rushford,” he corrected. It was a deliberate insult and India’s rage increased as his mocking voice continued.
“Your sister is the more conventional beauty, of course, though admittedly you have a certain something. In London I remarked it often.”
“In London?” India stared at him. “I think we have not met before…”
“I did not say that we had met. You did not frequent the gaming rooms, but your height alone attracts attention.”
India coloured, which added to her feelings of mortification. She bit her lips upon a hot retort, but he gave her no time to answer him.
“Pray do not feel embarrassed,” the maddening voice continued. “It is not a fault. Often I have observed that tall women have a certain elegance and style which must be the envy of their shorter cousins.”
“You are too kind!” India gritted out. “Have you other views on my appearance, sir? My nose, is perhaps, a little too long, and my mouth too wide?”
He was beside her in an instant. Then, to her horror, a large hand cupped her chin and turned her face to his, “No, no! Don’t underestimate yourself. Those eyes are well enough, and your skin is flawless. As to the hair? Well…not quite in the common way, perhaps…”
India struck his hand away, “I could always wear a wig,” she cried in fury.
“That’s better!” Isham was laughing down at her. “Now you are more yourself. We shall deal well together, my dear, but only if we are honest with each other. I can’t bear missish ways.”
India did not answer him. This interview was not going as she’d planned. He’d teased her into losing her temper and shedding her cool composure.
