Chapter Sixteen
July 26, 1818
It had been a week since she’d seen Royce and he’d unequivocally put a halt to their affair that had begun a handful of weeks ago. Not to mention that he’d cut her out of his life. She’d spent those days in a fog, alternately crying and nursing her still-rebelling stomach, as a handful of those words ran around and around her mind like ponies on a loop.
I’ll need to marry, find a countess who is proper and not a proponent of chasing scandal as you are.
As much as she’d hoped to steel herself against the inevitable, those words had cut her to the quick. Her heart still ached from them, for once more she hadn’t been enough for someone, and to know Royce wouldn’t accept her as she was had left her gasping and in pain as if he’d flayed her open for all to see.
“I thought he was different,” she whispered to the window as she peered out at the Mayfair streets. A gentle rain was falling, making the streets a touch muddy and the closed carriages that passed below shiny with the moisture. “I thought I’d found in him a man who might understand what it is to be not in the usual style.”
Even if she didn’t wish for marriage with a man who held a title.
That was perhaps the most unfair and ironic part of it all. If circumstances had been different, she could let the feelings she held for him progress and grow from respect and affection into love. None of that was possible now that he was an earl. Such a life wasn’t for her, and it was never what she’d wanted.
That didn’t soothe the broken heart she currently nursed. And that in itself was dreadfully wretched, for if she didn’t feel anything beyond fondness for Royce, why the devil did it hurt so badly that he’d rejected her?
The longer she stared out the window, the more lost she became. Hard on the heels of losing her mother, the loss of the one person who’d been able to anchor her battered soul had turned his back on her because she wasn’t good enough to fit in with his new world. Hot anger speared through her chest and brought with it quick tears. All of those emotions mixed with her until she shook from the confusion they made.
They swirled and swelled until she curled her hands into fists and the only thing she wished to do in that moment was scream at the unfairness of it all or perhaps smash several objects throughout the room against the wall.
“I’m a Storme for good reason.” Now she finally understood great depths of passion and despair the men in her family had gone through and how wrong she’d been to make jest of them. Apparently, members of her family didn’t feel things on a normal level like everyone else. Tomorrow, a large contingent of them would leave for the Derbyshire property in order to bury her mother. Cousin Andrew had made the arrangements and he’d already made his displeasure known when she’d asked to stay behind. “Why can they not see I know what’s best for my own life?” Then she frowned at a man riding along the street. He was familiar. When she pushed open her window and leaned out to better assess the situation, she allowed a tiny grin. “Lord Alder!”
The young peer had been a particularly devoted acolyte of hers before she’d become involved with Royce. He hadn’t been that skilled in kissing but his enthusiasm for everything had fed her own energy, and he was easy on the eyes with his blond hair and tall form. When he jerked his head about and led his horse closer to her townhouse, he lifted a hand in greeting and touched the brim of his top hat. “Miss Storme! How nice to see you again.”
Isobel waved. “Agreed!”
“You’d vanished from society for so long I feared you’d already left for the country.”
“Tomorrow, I will.” But not for the summer holiday. Mourning would follow, and that was just so dreary and dull. “What are your plans for the day?” She didn’t care if someone within the house heard her exchange; she was beyond caring about many things. Royce’s defection had put cracks in her heart, and she had no idea how to recover from that. What she needed in this moment was to make a large sensation so the people around her would have no choice but to notice her, to see her pain, to offer support.
Lord Alder shrugged while his bay mare danced beneath him. “Some of my friends and I were hoping to take my new charger out in Hyde Park and put him through his paces.”
“How exciting!” Excitement fluttered at the base of her spine. “What say you to a friendly race? My brother has a fast Arabian thoroughbred I’d like to match against your charger.” That’s originally how she’d met the young lord, for she’d seen him riding through Hyde Park a few months prior. William had acquired the piece of horseflesh as a gift of appreciation from a titled peer whose case he’d solved some months ago.
“Sounds like a bang-up time. Where and when, Miss Storme?”
The need to find something to return her lost confidence and self-worth grew strong. Besides, she desperately wished to escape the silent house of mourning. She wanted life and excitement and color around her, if only to delay acknowledging the emotions building through her chest that would cause her to break soon.
To distract her from thinking.
I will not cry over a man, especially a titled one.
“Four o’clock today. At Cumberland Gate on St. George’s Row. We’ll race past the guardhouse at Kensington Gardens then over the Serpentine, ending at the Kensington Gardens gate. Rain or shine.” There were multiple paths they could take to reach the guardhouse and it would depend on how much foot traffic there was in the park, but the added unknown upped the excitement.
“A fine course!” He nodded. “What are the stakes?”
By this time, a few interested passersby were staring at them as they conducted the not-so-private conversation. No doubt a crowd would assemble in the park merely for the curiosity of watching the race. Would it be enough to draw Royce to her side, for him to see that she was better and more vital than a society heiress or vapid young woman who only wanted to marry a title? Let him eat his heart out for tossing her aside.
If he couldn’t be true to himself, she didn’t need him.
Well, all the better for a crowd. The more witnesses, the better the scandal. It mattered not to her any longer on keeping her reputation somewhat untarnished. Royce didn’t want her at her best so she might as well appear at her worst. “If you win, I’ll let you kiss me in front of everyone this evening on Rotten Row. If I win, well I’ll have the accolades of beating you and the horse you’re so proud of.”
Really, she wanted nothing except the gossip… and perhaps the destruction therein. Let the tattlemongers have at her. Let them tear the remainder of her reputation to shreds, for she’d never be good enough. If Cousin Andrew demanded she live in Derbyshire for the remainder of the year, she could mourn in peace for many things, and if she were far removed from London, the likelihood of seeing Royce would lessen. Only then would this unrelenting pain in her heart cease, a pain for something she’d been adamant she hadn’t wanted a week ago, but now that she couldn’t have it, the anger at losing it had multiplied tenfold.
“I’ll take that wager. See you this afternoon, Miss Storme!” Then he once more touched his top hat and then trotted away with a wide grin.
Isobel came back into her room. A shuddering sigh escaped her. The ache in her heart intensified. Truly, the last thing she wished to do was kiss someone who wasn’t Royce. I’m rather tired of having things end in disaster. She glanced at her mother’s ruby ring and shook her head. Love was for women who didn’t know themselves and who weren’t strong enough to go through life without a man. What she needed now was an outfit worthy of the crime, something that would make her smile even through the lectures she could almost feel were coming after this stunt.