Anabelle Bryant - To Love A Wicked Scoundrel

‘Well, there is nothing for it.’ Disappointment coloured Isabelle’s words. ‘I will simply purchase dahlias another day.’ She turned towards the rude servant as he paid for his purchase and watched him brush past and walk to the curb. ‘Apparently for some, impertinence is a requirement for service. I feel sorry for the fool who hired him into the household.’

Her words faded as a large coach pulled to the end of the roadway and the detestable little man who had stolen her dahlias hopped onto the driver’s box next to the coachman. The vehicle sped away with nothing more than the blur of revolving red wheels left in its dusty wake. Isabelle stared after it for several breaths, a vibrant complaint stalled on her tongue.

Lily was waiting at the front window when she returned. Her hair was slightly mussed from an impromptu nap, her skin flushed with the warmth of sleep, as if she’d fallen asleep while awaiting Isabelle’s return. Delighted with her daisies, but eager to venture into Grosvenor’s Square, Lily prodded Isabelle out the door promptly. The weather was uncommonly mild and Isabelle strolled down one of the parterre’s many paths, while Lily darted back and forth investigating leaves, pebbles and bits of nature. The child held her complete attention and exemplified childhood innocence combined with an inquisitive intelligent mind. The simple awareness brought Isabelle joy and reaffirmed her vow that Lily’s youth be filled with pleasantness. A pang of dismay shadowed the thought and she forced away the intrusive remembrance of her father.

They walked the length of a flourishing rose garden and exited the path near the corner of Park Lane, where a small group of pedestrians huddled near the curb and watched something of interest in the middle of the roadway. Lily ran ahead and Isabelle followed swiftly after.

They came upon an interesting scene unfolding in the centre of the street. Isabelle’s brows climbed as she spied a small group of women tittering with excitement near the curb. The ladies were stationed across from Lord Highborough’s grand townhouse. Perhaps the pretentious gawkers hoped to get a glimpse of the infamous rakehell at a window or exiting down his front steps. Good heavens, one would think Prinny was in town. She rolled her eyes and huffed out a short breath.

Loud voices returned her attention to the roadway and as she held Lily’s hand in a firm grip, she surveyed two carriages stopped in the middle of the thoroughfare where they were causing a tangle of traffic. The smaller coach, ornate and painted a glossy white, contained several small faces that peered from the tiny box window as if the passengers were equally as anxious to see what occurred outside. Among them was Lady Newby’s. The other carriage was his. The red wheels were unmistakable, even though the rude servant and outrider from Covent Garden remained on the driver’s box. Lady Newby’s driver seemed to have inadvertently hitched the coach’s wheels fast and tight with Lord Highborough’s carriage as they attempted to avoid the same rut in the middle of Park Lane. A smug smile traced her lips as she watched all three servants attempt to dislodge the secured wheels and become dirtied with dust in the process.

When it was clear no progress prevailed, four young girls emerged from the white coach with a maid in tow. They ran willy-nilly towards the crowd on the curb and then farther into the park behind them. Lily twisted her neck to watch them pass. Did her sister realise how similarly she laboured her own maid?

She had no time to consider it. A wave of murmuring and excitement whispered through the small crowd. She followed the motion of the others and raised her eyes to see Lord Highborough leap from his front steps and out into the street where the coach wheels remained helplessly locked no matter the effort of the three servants.

‘Oh la, just look at the superb cut of his navy blue waistcoat. The shade is the perfect selection for the crystalline hue of his eyes.’

Isabelle swung her head to the lady at her left in time to catch the wave of twittering giggles that followed the statement.

‘Yes, and note his tight buckskin breeches and polished Hessian boots. He is a walking dream.’

This observation came from her left and Isabelle turned as a hint of a smile itched her lips. Then a gentleman spoke in a sympathetic tone and remarked how he hoped the earl would not become angered at having to intercede and spoil his fine attire.

Isabelle raised an eyebrow at the speculation his lordship spurred. The ridiculous nature of the comments surrounding her instigated a bubble of laughter to rise to the surface. She let it free and gazed down at Lily to share a bright smile. Then they both returned their eyes to the street where much to everyone’s awe and admiration, Lord Highborough removed his waistcoat and cravat, rolled up both sleeves of his fine lawn shirt, and positioned himself alongside the servants at opposite ends of his carriage to lift the heavy wheels and disentangle the lodged spokes.

A hush swept over the crowd and a small round of twittering and applause followed. Isabelle declined to offer accolades, deeming the spectacle absurd and refusing to become another babbling ninny on the corner of Park Lane.

True, she hadn’t missed the way his shoulders tensed when he lifted the coach or the striking silhouette of his upper arms as they strained against the fabric when he braced himself to adjust the wheel, but she could appreciate his form without melting and cooing like the foolish ladies surrounding her. Honestly, one couldn’t help but notice how his not quite sable hair fell forward over his brow before he swept it back in a fluid nod of his head. She swallowed heavily as the earl glanced upward to converse with the outrider atop Lady Newby’s carriage. True, he did appear dangerously rakish and devastatingly handsome. For a fleeting moment, her mouth went dry.

‘Isabelle?’ A tug at her arm shifted her attention to Lily. Having stayed near the edge of the crowd, they remained in a good position to back away from the corner unnoticed.

‘What is it, sweetling?’ Her heartbeat slowed to normal, along with her pulse. How unlike her to become so concerned with traffic patterns. Her eyes returned to the street.

At first, she would have agreed Lord Highborough might become angered at having to assist his coachman and ruin his very fine attire, but instead, he’d laughed and chatted with his driver as if helping to keep traffic flowing in the city’s streets was an everyday occurrence. Even Lady Newby waved a pink handkerchief out her coach window before it rolled to a stop in front of her residence down the lane. It would appear all of London adored the Earl of Colehill. The society pages had not exaggerated. For some strange reason, the realisation made her feel a trifle ill.

Lily pulled on her arm again, anxious to continue their stroll and Isabelle set her feet into motion. She dared a quick glance to the second-floor windows of Lord Highborough’s townhouse to discover him peering at her from above. How long has she lingered? Good heavens, did he believe her to be one of the bird-witted ninnies who stood on the corner outside his residence hoping to catch a glimpse of His Royal Handsomeness ? She turned and scurried after Lily as fast as her slippers could carry her.

***

Constantine completed his change of clothes and hurried to the window to see if the chaos in the street had dissipated. A few people milled about but with the excitement over, the square would soon return to normalcy. About to turn away, a flash of red under the white lace of an onlooker’s parasol caught his eye. It took less than a minute to recognise the lady below as the lovely stranger who verbally sparred with him last night in Lord Rochester’s study.