Isabella's Secret Summer Page 6
Isabella certainly hadn’t been expecting that. “What happened?” she asked gently.
Ethel took and deep breath and began, “Shortly after we moved into the castle, Mr. Claymoore and several other men arrived to discuss certain… political issues with Lord Liverpool.” Isabella had to wonder if she knew Mr. Claymoore was an agent for the Home Office, or if she was being deliberately vague. “Herb was in the stables tending to the horses when there was an outcry from one of the men in attendance. Herb had suffered an apoplexy and knocked over a lantern, setting one of the stalls ablaze.”
Isabella covered her mouth with her hand, as her heart ached for the couple that she was quickly coming to admire.
“Mr. Claymoore was the first man to reach Herb and he dragged him to safety, away from the fire. Afterward, he helped to put out the flames, and then rode into the village to fetch the local physician.” She shook her head. “I know that if it wasn’t for his immediate action, Herb might not be with me today. As it was, it took nearly six months for him to fully recover. Even now, he still has limited use of his left arm, although he’s too proud to let the weakness show and hides it rather well.”
Reluctantly, Mr. Claymoore’s words from yesterday rang in her ears. ‘You’ll find that weakness isn’t a word that I have in my vocabulary.’
Could it be that he was like Mr. Hopper, in that he was just too proud to let his shortcomings become visible, and yet also too stubborn to let anyone close enough to ease the burden of his vulnerabilities?
Isabella didn’t want to pity him, or allow her sympathies to become engaged, but she had never been immune to the downtrodden, the misunderstood — the misfits. If anyone understood what it meant to feel as though they didn’t fit in anywhere, it was her.
True, she might have been born a gentleman’s daughter, but that didn’t mean her peers accepted her without blemish. And she had plenty of failings — such as eloping with a man who betrayed his country, and not just his wife.
She reached out and embraced Mrs. Hopper. “Thank you for entrusting me with your story.”
Ethel sniffed as they broke apart. “I merely wanted you to see that Mr. Claymoore isn’t all bad. He does have his good points. They’re just more difficult to find.” She patted her arm. “I’ll leave you be for now, but if you decide to take a walk later, I suggest the kitchen gardens. They’re my favorite.”
Chapter Six
When Mrs. Hopper left, Isabella had a lot to think about. While she didn’t want to imagine that Mr. Claymoore could be anything but an ill-tempered boor, she knew that Mrs. Hopper hadn’t lied to her about what happened to Herb. Her emotions when she spoke of the incident was evidence enough.
Restless and feeling as though the walls were steadily closing in on her, Isabella went downstairs and decided to accept Mrs. Hopper’s advice and take a walk in the gardens, for it was the only escape that was currently available.
She passed the yew hedge with its array of colorful foliage, and although it was tempting enough to tarry, she headed for the kitchen gardens. With its mixture of fruit trees, vegetables, and flowers that could be used for herbal remedies, at this time of the year, it was a spectacular sight. A brilliant display of colors spread out before her, and she gasped in delight. She paused to close her eyes and exhaled deeply, the rich scents of earth and the various mixtures around her a heady combination to her senses.
Then, once again, she opened her eyes and walked along the gravel pathway, stopping when she spied a bright red fruit hanging low on one of the tree branches. She bit her lip, but it was just too tempting. She glanced about to make sure no one was looking then reached out to pluck the ripe apple. With the item in her grasp, she lifted it to her lips and opened her mouth to take a modest bite. She heard the crisp crunch at the same time her tongue was flooded with a delightful sweetness.
It had been years since Isabella had indulged in such a rare fruit. Granted, London was full of fruit sellers eager to hawk their wares, but nothing could compare to a fresh country apple. Her father’s estate had been laden with them, and when she was young, she used to tuck her frock between her legs and climb the trees in order to snag one. She would then happily sit on the branch and munch on it. Her mother had never known about those exploits, thank goodness, or she would have likely had a sound scolding. But then, with her brother at school, she had plenty of time on her own to explore whenever she had been able to escape her governess.
Isabella hummed a tune as she continued to meander about the vegetation, stopping to smell a flower or two, or touching their delicate petals.
After the upset from this morning, it truly was turning out to be a lovely day.
***
Ridge clenched his jaw as he watched Lady Isabella walk through the rows of flowers and herbs in her light blue muslin. With her brilliant red hair glimmering in the sun, it was as if he was beholding the tempting Eve in the Garden of Eden. Unfortunately, he didn’t feel very much like Adam, but rather the serpent that lurked in the bushes nearby.
But that was the problem, wasn’t it? While he’d tried to tell himself that his outburst that morning had been necessary in reminding the lady of the peril she was in, the truth was, a surge of lust had swamped him when he pictured her rising out of the sea like Amphitrite.
When she was gone, Mr. Hopper had given him a proper scolding, but he already knew that he’d been in the wrong. It really wasn’t Lady Isabella’s fault that she was stuck in this situation. Granted, she’d married Wistenberry, but she had no idea how far his depravities truly ran. She had believed she was marrying for love.
If nothing else, Ridge had to admit Lady Isabella was taking these unusual circumstances in stride. And he’d be lying if he said that her initial reaction to everything hadn’t surprised him. As a newly wed spinster, he’d imagined he’d have to deal with her hysterics. With any other lady of the ton, he would have had to use the smelling salts several times, but he’d used them once and that was to combat the effects of the ether. She hadn’t turned into a watering pot, and he respected the fact she didn’t have any trouble standing up to him, when grown men were known to shudder at the sight of his eye patch.
While she probably wouldn’t appreciate his intrusion on her solitude, Ridge walked out into the clearing to make his presence known.
“Lady Isabella.”
Her head whipped around at his voice, and the serenity that had been on her face hardened, and her knuckles turned white where her hand tightened on the remains of the apple in her grasp. “Mr. Claymoore,” she returned frostily.
He held up his hands in mock surrender. “You’re not going to lob that at my head, are you?”
She looked down at the apple and he saw her fingers relax. “I considered it, actually, but then that would just be a waste of a perfectly good fruit.”
His lips twitched, glad that his attempt at humor had been effective, but then he sobered as he slowly walked toward her, stopping a short distance away. He took a deep breath. “I didn’t come here to cause any more trouble for you, but to apologize for earlier. I was… out of line.”
She regarded him steadily, as if trying to decipher whether he was telling the truth. In the end, she inclined her head. “Thank you, Mr. Claymoore. I accept.” She began walking again, and he clasped his hands behind his back and joined her, hoping it would be enough of a deterrent not to touch her. “I imagine this is all a rather odd situation for you as well,” she continued. “As an agent for the Crown, it must be difficult not to chase after Simon on your own, but be forced to wait for him to come to you.”
“It’s true I’m not used to much inactivity. My last mission was working on a smuggling ship in the guise of One-Eye.”
She paused and turned to him. “Do you truly enjoy that sort of danger every day?”
“If you’re asking if that’s what I intended to do with my life, then the answer is no.” He laughed. “I was a cabin boy on a merchant ship for a time, and while I could have worked my
way up the ranks as a sailor, the weeks of inactivity on a stale ocean, waiting for the wind to push us across the water, didn’t appeal to me.”
A delicate furrow appeared between her brows and he wanted to kiss it away. “How did you become an agent?”
Ridge knew Lady Isabella was acquainted with the Duchess of Chiltern, but that didn’t mean she also knew about her brother, Travell Abernathy, and his secret occupation. So he demurred, “I was approached with the prospect. And accepted.”
She appeared to be waiting for more, but when he said nothing, she asked, “That’s it?”
He shrugged. “What else am I supposed to say?”
“I don’t know. I guess something a bit more gallant?”
Ridge laughed once more and reached out to grasp the low hanging branch of a pear tree. “If you want me to admit that I do all of this for God and country, then I hate to disappoint you, but I fear my reasons are rather self-centered. I was looking for something to do, and the opportunity came along. I didn’t become an agent just to be admired or looked upon as some sort of hero.”
She shook her head. “At least you’re honest,” she murmured. “Which is more than I can say for the majority of men in my acquaintance.”
She started to move away, but he reached out and grasped her arm. When she looked expectantly at him, he said gently, “Don’t base all of your knowledge on those London dandies. There are men out there who are genuine and worthy of your affection, Lady Isabella.”
She smiled almost wistfully. “Just not someone like you.”
***
Isabella had meant the statement as a general one regarding men of his class, but something abruptly shifted in his face. His jaw hardened, and he straightened from his relaxed pose, his dark eyes intent as he looked at her.
She feared she’d made an error and upset him, so she started to say, “Pardon me, Mr. Claymoore, I didn’t mean—”
“No, Lady Isabella,” he interrupted. “You’re absolutely right. Men like me don’t marry, we don’t fall in love, and we certainly don’t compare to men like Wistenberry.”
She frowned. “That’s not what I—”
“Meet me here at eleven o’clock tonight if you want to go to the beach.” He broke in curtly.
She blinked, the swift change in topic making her head spin. “I thought you said it was too dangerous?”
His eyes glittered. “I will be going with you.”
She swallowed heavily, imagining the two of them together in such close proximity at such a late hour, but managed to nod her head. “Of course.” When he would have left her, she added, “Thank you, Mr. Claymoore.”
He paused then turned his head to the side. “You’re welcome.”
Isabella watched him walk away, still rather confused about what had just happened. For a man that could be rather maddening, she was starting to believe that what Mrs. Hopper said was true, that he was truly a decent human being. After all, he’d not only apologized for his crude actions that morning, but he was extending his atonement by offering the one thing she’d asked for.
That had to mean something, surely?
She also had to keep in mind that Mr. Claymoore had grown up in a brothel, and then lived among sailors and criminals for most of his life, so it was no wonder if he was a bit gruff around the edges.
At least he was right about one thing. He wasn’t like Simon — or any of the other men who paraded about London. But something told her he was even more honorable. She firmly believed that he did his job without any sort of expectation of a reward or recognition. He was a spy because he enjoyed it — it was what he wanted to do.
Although he might not express his agitation to her, she had to imagine that it was hard for him to cool his heels at the castle when he was yearning to be back in action. This entire ordeal was certain to be a learning experience for both of them, but they would have to find some way to coexist, for God only knew how long they would have to wait for Simon to appear.
***
Isabella spent most of the afternoon looking through the books that Lord Liverpool had on his shelves, but she wasn’t really in the mood to read about economics or philosophy when she was looking forward to tonight with such eagerness. She could hardly contain her excitement, for the sheer joy of reverting back to something she enjoyed so much from her childhood was as palpable as a drug.
She had always mourned the loss of those coveted trips to Brighton, for they had ceased once she’d been old enough to begin her deportment lessons to become a proper lady. Everything had changed, and she’d had to make time for dancing, watercolors, embroidery, and the endless list of other things her mother had set before her. It had been dull in the extreme, when all she’d wanted to do was immerse herself under the water.
There was a certain thrill she had of gliding through the waves, a sense of freedom in blocking out the rest of the world.
She sighed in delight and proceeded to count down the hours.
That evening, she sat down to supper with Mr. and Mrs. Hopper and Claudia in the servants’ dining room. Mr. Claymoore was conspicuously absent, but Herb had mentioned that they had been working in the stables for most of the day. While that explained where he’d been, she wondered if Ridge always kept to himself. If so, she imagined he led a very lonely life, indeed.
After dinner, Isabella and Claudia sat and chatted until the appointed hour arrived at long last. While Isabella didn’t have a proper bathing dress, her maid lent her one of her serviceable gray gowns. The material was thicker than most of Isabella’s muslins and would go far to preserve her modesty. Besides, it would be dark and it wasn’t as though she had to worry about her reputation as an unmarried woman any longer.
But then, it wasn’t as if she really cared.
With her long hair in a thick plait and a simple pair of slippers on her feet, Isabella went downstairs and made her way to the darkened gardens. Using the moonlight and the twinkling stars overhead as her guide, it wasn’t hard to find Mr. Claymoore waiting for her, as promised.
He turned as she drew closer and her heart slammed against her ribcage. He wore a pair of buff trousers and a simple, white lawn shirt that was rolled up to his elbows and opened at the throat, giving her a tantalizing glimpse of his broad chest.
“Ready?” he asked.
She nodded and he took her hand and led her across the grounds. It was a simple enough gesture, yet Isabella couldn’t help but feel as though she truly was that carefree girl again, perhaps even a different woman altogether, running off for a secret rendezvous with one of her suitors. That was a nice thought, as she’d never had many members of the opposite sex show her that much interest. She’d always been too shy and awkward to gain their notice. Which was why she’d leaped at the chance to entertain those youthful fantasies about Simon.
But since she refused to have that reminder dampen her spirits, the moment they reached the sandy beach, she pulled on her escort’s hand. “Wait.”
He stood by patiently as she slipped off her shoes. She dug her toes into the sand and was surprised to find that it was still a bit warm from the day’s sun. With a laugh, she glanced at Mr. Claymoore — and then took off at a dead run toward the water.
***
Ridge couldn’t do anything but stare. There were very few times in his life where he’d actually been struck dumb, but seeing that glorious smile on Isabella’s face, that pure unadulterated happiness as she rushed off toward the tide — needless to say, it was like nothing he’d ever witnessed before.
And just that quick, there was a tiny crack in his heart.
“Oh, it’s cold!” she squealed.
Ridge couldn’t help but grin, something he seldom did these days with any true feeling. But the sight of her jumping around, waist deep in the water was particularly humorous. Her joy was infectious. He just had to remember that danger could still be lurking around them, so he would need to be cautious. “What did you expect?” he called out. “It’s nighttime.”
“Well, yes, but—”
She broke off as he tugged his shirt out of his trousers.
“What are you doing?”
He tossed the garment over his head and let it drop to the sand, leaving him naked from the waist up. “I told you you’re not going anywhere without me. And that also goes for the North Sea.”
When she spoke, it was a bit breathless, and he couldn’t help his grin from expanding. “I just thought that meant you would stay on shore!”
“Now what would be the enjoyment in that?” he drawled, but when he kicked off his boots and started on the fastenings of his trousers, he heard her gasp.
“Surely this is highly… inappropriate!”
He kicked his trousers to the side. “If you don’t want me to dive in before you, then you better get going.” Wearing nothing more than his small clothes, he ran barefoot toward the water.
She squealed and threw her arms out to disappear beneath the water.
Ridge expelled a rusty laugh, and then filled his lungs with air and followed suit. As he broke the surface, and flung the wet hair out of his face, he looked for Isabella but she was nowhere to be found.
But then he felt something brush against his ankle.
Instantly, he went back under, but the source was already gone.
The next time he came up for air, she was treading water a respectable distance away from him. “Did I scare you?”