Chapter One
June 10, 1818
London, England
As the Honorable Isobel Storme wiped at the tears on her cheeks, the oval-shaped ruby ring sitting on the middle finger of her right hand winked in the early summer sunlight. Though cheerful, warm illumination streamed through the windows of her mother’s bedchamber, it brought anything but that emotion.
The truth of the matter was that her mother—Viscountess Doughton—was dying. It had been a slow, torturous road to arrive at this point, but the disease of her lungs had accelerated. All too soon, she’d leave this mortal coil, and that was an eventuality Isobel wasn’t prepared for, no matter how much time she’d had to acclimate.
“Don’t cry so, Isobel. You’ll ruin your looks,” her mother admonished in a whispered voice. At least there was a smile on her wan face. “I didn’t give you the ring to make you sad.”
“What else am I to think, Mother?” Again, she glanced at the ruby. The facets winked in the sunlight, as did the delicate silver filagree work that held the three-carat stone. “Father gave it to you upon your wedding.” And since that union had been fraught with problems and strife, the ring would forever remind Isobel that being wed didn’t necessarily mean being in love.
Which suited her mindset regarding matrimony just fine. She’d rather find fun and entertainment with men instead of a gilded cage and the end to her freedom.
“I’m ready to go,” her mother continued. “There will be no more pain, or struggle to breathe. Perhaps I can see your father again after all this time.” A sigh escaped her. “I only wish I could have lived long enough to see you and Caroline matched and cared for.”
From sheer willpower alone, Isobel tamped the urge to point her gaze at the ceiling. “I’m not a marriage-minded lady. You’ve known this for a long time.” As for her older sister Caroline. Well, she couldn’t say what her life held in store, for her sister had only just come back into her life from being locked away in an institution for the mentally deficient. “I rather doubt Caroline is looking for a husband either, for different reasons, of course.”
“You need someone to take care of you, Isobel.”
“I don’t.” What she needed was for someone to understand her, someone who would pay exclusive attention to her when all she’d ever wanted out of life was to gain the notice of the people she loved. Being the youngest member of the family had assured she’d fallen through the cracks and was ignored.
It was no secret the Storme family had been—and oftentimes still was—embroiled in scandal and upheaval. At times that reputation worked splendidly in her favor, for courting scandal was a favorite way of filling her days, but at others, it grated.
Would she ever have a life removed from the Stormes, to move away from that large and impressive—sometimes oppressive—shadow?
“You’re searching for love. I can see it deep down in your eyes,” her mother continued. When she coughed, the pristine white handkerchief she dabbed her lips with came away with flecks of blood. “We failed you in that, and I’m heartily sorry.” Her laugh was an exhausted sound. “Your father and I failed both you girls, and I fear we passed that trait on to William.”
Isobel snorted. “He is a tad overbearing, this is true, but ever since William married Fanny, he’s mellowed slightly.” Her older brother wed a few weeks ago to a woman nearly ten years his junior, and one of Isobel’s friends to boot. While it was exciting having Fanny in the family fold to exchange secrets with, it wasn’t the same as having William’s full attention any longer. “Every one of the Stormes has their own lives. I’m once again… lost.” The last was said on a whisper, and she glanced at the ruby ring her mother had given her.
“But that’s all to the good.” Her mother rested her tired gaze on Isobel. “Those boys were wild and scattered. Now they’re married, which provides a bit of peace for them. Being together last Christmas went a long way to repairing the rift between the Storme branches. I’d hoped it would have helped you as well.”
“It didn’t. Not truly.” In some agitation, Isobel stood up from the chair at her mother’s bedside. “I’m not seeking marriage, Mother. I don’t want my wings clipped.”
“Oh, Isobel.” A note of hopelessness lingered in her mother’s voice. “If the Storme brothers taught you anything it’s that the right man won’t stifle the lady they take to wife. Each of those boys has a wonderful helpmeet; they complement each other. There is nothing to say the same won’t happen for you.”
“I’ve seen enough men to know those three are an aberration.” She shrugged. “Besides, the Stormes are a unique bunch.”
“Of course they are, but please promise me you’ll consider letting someone court you. I’d like to know that during the time I have left you’re making inroads to settle your life.”
“Ah. You want me tamed.” How disappointing. “I enjoy creating sensations.”
“It’s scandalous, and if you keep on, no man will have you.” Censure had crept into her tones.
“Then I want none of them. If they can’t take me on as I am, they’re not worthy.” Isobel shook her head. At eight and twenty, she’d long been a hoyden and, as her cousin Andrew called her, a problem waiting to happen. There was a reason for that. She adored the control she maintained over her reputation and adored when tongues wagged or heads turned. A demure, proper life had never appealed to her. The attention that came along with aberrant behavior helped to distract her from the turbulence all around her.
“Isobel…”
Suddenly possessed of the need to put distance between her and the inevitable death of her remaining parent, she headed toward the open doorway. “Don’t worry, Mother. I won’t do anything as rash as you fear.”
Much.
No sooner had she stepped one foot into the corridor beyond than Hankins, their butler, entered at the end of the hall.
“Miss Storme, the Earl of Hadleigh is here to see you,” the stately man announced in tones he no doubt thought were mysterious and thrilling. “He’s waiting in the drawing room, and he’s quite in a rush.”
What the devil is Cousin Andrew doing here?She sighed. “Very well.” As Isobel followed the butler down the stairs, she racked her brain over the events of the last few days to discover what the earl would have had issue with. Then she scrunched up her face. Ah, that bit of scandalous flirting at a ball two days ago. Or was it the handsome groom she stole a kiss from yesterday while visiting with a friend? Obviously, the on-dits had finally made the rounds.