Page 37 of Engaging Sir Isaac

Millie needed more than luck. She needed cunning. She needed cleverness. And a heart of stone.

But maybe not yet.

The house party began tomorrow. She would have no choice but to take up her assignment from Lady Olivia in full. For one last evening, Millie gave herself permission to simply be herself.

* * *

Isaac walked through the gardens of Inglewood Keep, each terrace leading him closer to the beach path. He kicked at a rock that dared leave its place beneath the shrubbery. He wore the same clothes he had on the day he met Miss Wedgewood spying upon his property. Comfortable. Old. Not at all befitting his status, but perfect for an evening upon the beach enjoying the surf and a bonfire.

On the lowest terrace, Esther would have lanterns and a meal spread upon tables. Many of their friends and neighbors would be present. Esther and Silas, Jacob and Grace, Isaac, the Ashfords, Jacob’s unwed sisters, his married brother, and possibly Miss Parr, whom Grace and Esther both were attempting to befriend and guide before she went to London next Season.

People he had known nearly the whole of his life. Friends, most of them. Ready to share laughter and memories, to sing while they sat around the bonfire and forget about all their responsibilities until the morning.

Yet for all the pleasure such an evening promised, Isaac’s thoughts lingered on Millie’s plight. Had Lady Olivia sent her away, as Millie thought she might? What cause would the marquess’s family have to give their assistance to someone of such low rank in the first place?

None of it made sense to him, but then, Isaac had never been overly concerned with what Society thought of him. After coming back from the war, Society held even less of a draw for him. The whole of Society’s machinations and rules had lost its appeal to him. It was meaningless, vying for popular opinion to turn in his favor.

Seeing all the helpless of London, all the men broken by the war, the women left widows and children orphans, had cured him of ever wishing to step foot into that town again. The nobility and other elite refused to see the pain and suffering all around them. Isaac could not wish to be part of that.

Yet others needed that approval. The Wedgewood family believed they needed it. He could not judge Millie for that, though it grated upon him that the path Millie’s family had chosen involved any member of the Marquess of Alderton’s family.

Laughter pulled him from his thoughts, and Isaac stopped just shy of entering the lowest terrace. Tall hedges on either side of the step, and an archway of twisting ivy, marked this part of the garden as separate, as a doorway marked a room. He drew in a deep breath and put a smile upon his face, then stepped through.

Esther had outdone herself. Though not yet dark, the garden was lined with torches. A small fountain merrily sang and reflected the firelight. Tables laden with covered dishes were surrounded by people filling their plates. A little over a dozen people conversed, laughed, and drank from elegantly curved cups.

Isaac took in a deep breath, though his shoulders already ached with how tightly he held everything within himself. If the group was any larger, he might find himself ill. Indoors, he often sought the edges of the room near the windows.

You are not trapped, he told himself, as firmly as he would a subordinate. You are in the open air. These are your friends. All is well. The war… Before Napoleon’s escape from Alba, his familiar litany included a reminder that the war had ended. Now, however, the Corsican was upon the Continent again, stirring up trouble.

Isaac shuddered, despite the warmth of the evening air.

A small hand touched his arm, fingers curling about his wrist. “Sir Isaac?” a familiar feminine voice whispered. “Are you well?”

His gaze fell to his side, to a familiar pair of warm brown eyes and hair that glistened a fiery red in the fading light of evening.

“Millie.” Her Christian name escaped him so naturally that it took him a moment to understand why her eyebrows rose nearly to her hairline, and her cheeks colored. He felt his cheeks warm, too. He cleared his throat. “I apologize. Miss Wedgewood. You are still here.”

She must not have appreciated his tone. Her eyebrows fell as she narrowed her eyes at him, and removed her hand from his arm, which made him immediately regret the stumble in his words. “Yes, I am afraid so.”

Isaac reached for the withdrawing hand, catching it before she could tuck it out of sight. “No, you misunderstand. I meant to say that I am glad you are not gone. That you were not sent home.” He let out a shaky, awkward chuckle. “I did not think to see you again, after our meeting yesterday.”

She lowered her head, allowing him to glimpse the ribbons sliding through her hair like rivulets of water. “I know. I did not expect to be here either.” A line appeared between her eyebrows, though she smiled. “There was only a small misunderstanding between myself and Lady Olivia. I spoke to her. It seems I will be a guest until the end of her mother’s house party after all.”

“I am glad to hear it.” The moment Isaac spoke the words, he recognized the truth in them. She intrigued him. Amused him, even. Her conversation was unusual, but comfortable. Honest. And that smile of hers—

One corner of her mouth crept upward and revealed her dimple. “Do you know what I thought after our conversation yesterday?”

“No. Tell me.” His lips twitched, tempted to match her smile with one of his own.

“That you would rather not associate with one of my tainted reputation.” She looked down, pointedly, at their joined hands. “It seems I was mistaken.”

Isaac released her and stepped back, tucking his hand behind his back. “I apologize if I gave that impression. Your standing in Society has no bearing on our acquaintance. Your personal conduct and character are more important than whatever your popularity might be.”

She lowered her head, her expression changing to one of contemplation. “There are few enough who say such things, and fewer still that mean them.”

Isaac bent to catch her gaze. “You have my word, Miss Wedgewood. I mean every word I say.” Then he offered his arm, and she took it hesitantly. “Have you eaten?” He nodded to the laden tables. “Met everyone?”

That brought a truer smile to her face than he had seen thus far that evening. “Yes, I have. Unlike you, I arrived on time.”