Free Isabella by Loretta Chase Page A

course, there was Charlotte being so very tiresome. Not to mention this distressing surfeit of servants. They quite exhaust me. It is no wonder Thomas could not afford a proper Season for your cousin, when he requires an army to run even such a modest place as this. At any rate, you must promise me that you will not allow this little girl to treat you as her hobby-horse. Polly tells me that the child made you most untidy. 'Like a big wind had blowed her from one end of London to the other' were her exact words, I believe."
    Isabella could not meet her mother's eyes.
    "I'm sure Polly was exaggerating, Mama," she managed to reply after what seemed like a monstrous long silence. "Lucy is very affectionate, and I believe she is very lonely—"
    "No doubt," her mother replied, apparently engrossed in contemplation of a particularly inept sketch that hung by the door. As she brought her gaze back to her daughter, she went on, softly, "Still, it would not do for your aunt to see you return home tomorrow in the frazzled state Polly so vividly described."
    "You are quite right, Mama. But as we are merely going to look at some pictures, Lucy will not have the opportunity to 'frazzle' me."
    "Yes, that is so. Well, I believe I shall go to my own room and take a nap. Your aunt's lectures weary one so, and I do not see why she must be so disagreeable at tea. It is not at all recommended for the digestion." She patted her daughter's hand and rose to leave. But a few steps from the door, she stopped and said, as an afterthought, "By the way, Isabella, I do not recollect your mentioning meeting up with Mr. Trevelyan as well as his cousin. But then, perhaps I was not listening as closely as I ought." She frowned once again at the offending sketch. "No matter. I should develop a headache as well as indigestion attempting to keep count of your beaux." And on that enigmatic note, she exited, leaving Isabella staring open-mouthed after her.
    Miss Latham’s was not the only equanimity to be ruffled by the morning's adventure. Upon returning to his lodgings, Mr. Trevelyan found himself uncharacteristically out of sorts. It was not the pricks of conscience which disturbed him, however; nor was it the tone of impatience which had crept into his landlady's heretofore respectful inquiry regarding several months' back rent. After all, Freddie could most likely be counted on to advance a small loan. But one could not much longer continue to exist on the good offices of friends and Aunt Clem, and the once extremely remote prospect of debtors' prison now loomed closer by the day. The prison walls cast a long cold shadow which seemed to draw the warmth from Basil's cramped rooms. What else had led him, on this beautiful spring afternoon, to build a fire near which he huddled, nursing a brandy?
    His friends' experience had shown him that debtors' prison could be a tolerable place. There at least one was free of the harassments of creditors. Yet though it might be tolerable, he had no wish to avail himself of that species of liberty, and was just now wondering how his normally reliable instincts for survival had led him so far astray.
    Patiently, he'd been insinuating himself, little by little, into Miss Latham's good graces. And the hints he'd dropped among his acquaintance had led many to believe that her virtue was teetering on the brink. But this morning he had risked it all—for what? A kiss. And now she would not only cease trusting him, but would more than likely refuse to have anything further to do with him. This could not improve his position with his creditors, who, like his gambling friends, had begun to believe he was on his way to a prosperous match.
    As he absently turned the brandy glass in his hands, he realised that he might have mistaken his victim. Her plainness, her naiveté, and her idiotic relations had all led him to believe she was less well protected and would be more easily manipulated than other eligible young ladies. But she would