Page 34 of Engaging Sir Isaac

In his dreams, he had both hands still. Sometimes he fought with them. Sometimes he wandered endless battle fields alone, with only the refuse of war scattered about him. Very rarely, he had pleasant dreams. After his day spent with Silas, Esther, and Miss Wedgewood, his dreams had been calmer.

Isaac shoved his hand through his hair, then loosened his cravat with a few tugs at the white fabric. It hardly mattered what he looked like. No one would see him but the servants, and if he took a meal in his room or study, only one servant need see him at all. His valet.

Despite the fine day before, Isaac had still awoken before dawn that morning, in a cold sweat. Still, he’d pushed away the laudanum his valet had suggested as a helpful method of sleeping. Too many of Isaac’s friends now depended upon laudanum. Or strong draughts of bourbon.

But Isaac, as much as he longed to forget his pains and memories, preferred to keep his mind sharp. To do that, he needed problems to solve. Needed things to turn his attention toward. He had found papers detailing some of his father’s old investments. Those ought to help him repair the decline of the estate. Silas had assisted with the dam project that would start in a few days’ time, when the laborers were free from other business.

That left Isaac to pursue what he wished in his evening hours.

Yet there was little to distract him. Little that interested him.

Millie had been a pleasant distraction. First, trying to determine what her game was, why she had expressed her curiosity about him. When she had grown more open, more honest about herself, that had intrigued him still further.

Now, she would leave, and that would be one less thing for him to think upon. One less person to befriend. And he was powerless to aid her.

Powerless. Unable to do a thing to ease her way, to spare her grief when she deserved none.

Isaac groaned and dropped his forehead into his hand, then rubbed at his eyes. Helpless.

Chapter 11

Waiting for Lady Olivia to return made the hours pass slowly. The marchioness had gone for most of the day and returned in time to nap before the evening meal. Millie took up her usual chair in the art room, Sarah at the table with her this time. The maid had apparently taken pity on Millie’s lonely state.

Pity. What a powerful, horrible word that was. As Millie etched another line of ink onto the wood box, turning a sweep of her hand into the tail of a fox, she reflected on her conversation with Sir Isaac that morning. He had hated the very idea of pity, of it directed at him. How could he think himself the object of such a thing? She hadn’t seen him as any less of a man for the loss of one arm.

Half of one arm, really.

“Sarah,” she said aloud, filling her brush again with the ebony ink. “What hardship do you think a gentleman faces without the use of both arms?”

Sarah peeked up from her work, tatting lace. Not all women of her position had such a skill, which made Sarah take extra care and pride in her work. She created beautiful lace collars for Millie’s gowns, as well as pretty bits and pieces to add to Christening gowns and handkerchiefs. “You mean Sir Isaac, miss?”

“He simply made me think on the question. I am not thinking of him specifically.” Millie lowered her eyes to her work. Of course she did not mean to think only of him. As a woman, had she lost an arm, a great many of the skills most prized by the gentry would be out of her reach. Sewing, playing an instrument, even many of her artistic skills would no longer be achievable. And she would not cut the right figure in gowns, which always made a lady less than desirable.

“I imagine it’s just about everything, miss,” her maid said lightly, turning her attention back to her tatting needle. It was made of fine bone, a gift from Millie’s mother to encourage the maid to practice her skills. “Except maybe writing. Gentlemen are expected to hunt. How does he fire a rifle? They’re expected to be sportsmen. How does he play cricket, or row a boat? Riding would be difficult.”

“He rides quite well, from what little I’ve seen,” Millie murmured, keeping her eye on yet another stroke of her brush meant to make the curve of the fox’s shoulder.

Sarah sounded far too amused when she said, “I thought we weren’t talking about Sir Isaac, miss.”

Millie bit the insides of her cheeks and put her brush down. “Sarah. We both know the reason I am here is to help Lady Olivia revenge herself upon Sir Isaac. I cannot be his friend.” She leaned back against her chair and rubbed at her forehead, the beginnings of an ache forming just behind her eyes. “But I cannot do what Lady Olivia wants, either.”

Sarah dropped her hands into her lap, her work forgotten, as a bright smile appeared upon her face. “That’s a mercy. I could tell you like the lady countess, and you seemed to enjoy your time spent with the whole family yesterday. I never did like the idea of doing what Lady Olivia asked. Not once.”

Her maid’s vehemence drew a laugh from Millie, though it was not so much mirthful as rueful. “I know, Sarah. I could feel your disapproval at every moment. But this puts us in a difficult position. Most likely, Lady Olivia will send us home. And you know how my mother will take this latest failure on my part.”

To Sarah’s credit, she never said a word against either of Millie’s parents. Her loyalty ran too deep for that. But she did allow herself a deep sigh and sage nod over the pronouncement. “It will not go well for you, miss.”

A knock at the door made both of them raise their eyebrows. Millie rose, as did Sarah.

“Come in.”

Lord Neil stuck his head inside but did not enter. “My sister is at home. She arrived only a moment ago. I know you had something rather pressing you wished to tell her.”

“I do. Yes.” Millie looked down at her brushes and hesitated.

“I’ll take care of everything, miss. I know how particular you are.” Sarah immediately began to gather things up. Bless her. Millie had depended upon Sarah many times since they had come together as mistress and servant, and Sarah had never let her down.

“I am coming, my lord.” Millie went to the door, which Lord Neil opened wider to allow her through. Together they walked down the hall toward his sister’s rooms. “It is good of you to offer your support, Lord Neil,” she said.