Free Isabella by Loretta Chase

explained—and not a bit what you think." This being met by no other rejoinder than a "harrumph," she went on, "I believe you are aware that Lord Hartleigh has been named as guardian to the daughter of his very dear friend, who passed away a short time ago—"
    "Such a sad business," Mama sighed.
    "This ward," Isabella went on, with a brief frown at her irrepressible parent, "has taken a fancy to me; I am sure I don't know why..."
    "But, my love, you were always so good with children—even the most tiresome—"
    "Mama, it is very difficult to hold my train of thought when you keep interrupting."
    "Yes, Maria, do let her get on with it."
    Murmuring an apology, Maria looked off toward the clock with an abstracted air.
    "At any rate, the child has taken a fancy to me, and Lord Hartleigh—who, you can well imagine, is much at a loss to amuse a seven-year-old girl—"
    A quelling glance from the viscountess squelched another of her daughter's giggling fits.
    "—has invited me to this exhibition of landscapes solely to please the child, who insisted I bear them company."
    There were some signs that Lady Belcomb was beginning to be appeased: Her face, for instance, was beginning to recover its normal colour. She was not entirely satisfied, however.
    "It seems to me, Isabella," she asserted, "that Lord Hartleigh is overly indulgent of his ward's whims."
    "I am sure, Aunt, that that is because he has had no experience with children. As he becomes more accustomed to his role, I am quite convinced he will be less indulgent."
    "I would expect so. Nonetheless, I do not think he would take it much amiss if you were to indicate—tactfully, of course—that it is not at all to his ward's benefit to spoil her."
    "At the very first opportunity," Isabella solemnly assured her aunt, while feeling quite convinced that the earl would take it very much amiss indeed.
    "Well, then, I suppose we must at least commend Lord Hartleigh for wishing to do his duty by this orphan; although I do feel he has been carried away by his enthusiasm. But no matter. And you will take your abigail with you, Isabella?"
    "I do not see why Polly must go as well..." Maria began, but the viscountess's face began to darken again, and she lazily added, "but then I suppose a seven-year-old child cannot count as chaperone."
    "Of course not, Mama."
    "Then I suppose we must let her go, Maria," Lady Belcomb announced magnanimously.
    "Oh, I suppose we must," her sister-in-law agreed with a sigh. "I only hope the child does not tire her overmuch."
    And with the crisis resolved, the ladies returned to their tea and managed to make a tolerable meal, despite the disagreeable necessity of having to shoo away diverse servants who persisted in duplicating one another's efforts, bustling in and out for no apparent reason, adding to and subtracting from the meal at their own whims.
    It was not long after tea that Maria Latham entered her daughter's room. She was not wont to visit much, preferring to spend most of her time in her sitting room, where she could recline comfortably. Thus she was struck anew by the room's small size and inelegant decor. Gracefully, she dropped into a chair close by the little desk where Isabella sat composing a letter to her Uncle Henry.
    As she glanced about her at the threadbare furnishings, Maria lamented, "I do wish your aunt had selected another room for you, my love. These yellow draperies do not suit your complexion."
    Isabella swallowed a smile. "I don't know where else she might put me, Mama. Veronica cannot be expected to share her room with Alicia, and certainly one could not squeeze so much as a mouse into the servants' quarters."
    "Yes, I'm certain you are right, darling—although I'm afraid I must quarrel with any attempt to put you among the servants. But it is so distressing. I do not know whether it is the colour of the draperies that makes you appear so fatigued. Although, come to think of it, you appeared fatigued at tea as well. But of