William introduced them, talking as smoothly as if they were at a morning call and the day was dawning with the promise of sunbeams and wildflowers.
When Sophia saw Isabel, her mouth opened and she said nothing at first. Then she said, ‘Your arm... I must get a cloth to clean your arm.’
Isabel stood. ‘It’s dried now. And only stings a little. Your brother saved me.’
‘Oh, him.’ She shrugged the words away. ‘I slipped and fell into a stream head first and he tugged me home by my ear because he said I scared him so.’ She thrust her hand sideways, giving a punch to William’s arm. ‘I still haven’t forgiven him for making one ear crooked.’
William examined her ears. ‘Yes. Hideous. Makes me shudder.’
Sophia waved his words away and stepped towards Isabel. ‘So let us get you all mended.’
‘Soph—’ William interrupted. ‘There is one other thing. I would not want to send a rider in the darkness, but you must pen a quick post in the morning for delivery to her employer. Just make up something about her rescuing you and a companion from a horrible attack of wasps or something and how she could not leave you abandoned... You know, the same story you told Aunt Emilia.’ He winked. ‘It is a shame to let such a tale fade away when it could be used twice.’
Sophia shook her head. ‘I don’t think Aunt Emilia believed me.’
William snorted. ‘I know she didn’t. She told me I must get you married off immediately, so I looked about and tossed a suitable fellow your way.’
Sophia raised her chin, smiled and added drama to her voice. ‘And all it took was one dance and he was smitten.’
‘See, Miss Morton...’ William tucked his hands behind his back ‘...she is good at folderol.’ He turned to leave, then stopped and looked at his sister. ‘You might let Aunt Emilia know of the tale. Just in case.’
‘I shall. But she’ll not be awake early in the morning. She’s attending a dinner at the Brownings’ tonight and she’ll not be the first one to leave as she has put on her marriage-mart gloves again. She thinks our sisters should not rusticate away in the country.’
‘She may be right.’
‘Oh, please.’ Sophia’s voice turned whimsical. ‘Once it’s known that Ros and Harriet are interested in courting, Aunt Emilia will be sorting out the proposals and you will be complaining because the suitors are not worthy. Aunt Emilia is planning to get an early start on the Season. Even the people who have been in the country for the summer are returning to be at the dinner. Apparently it is quite the event because they all wish to discuss Nash’s plans for our town. We can’t let Bonaparte outshine us.’
‘I’m surprised I found you at home.’
‘Only because I do not wish to get into a heated discussion about architecture or Napoleon and prefer to spend the evening with my smitten husband.’
‘Now you will be hearing about Nash’s plans from Aunt Emilia, or her battle plans for capturing beaus for our sisters.’ He raised his chin and smiled at Isabel. ‘Our aunt does like to go about. Even though she has a home in the country near my father, she prefers her residence here. She considers good society vital.’
‘Which means she has to ignore tales of my dear brother,’ Sophia inserted.
He inclined his head to his sister and Isabel. ‘And now your dear brother must take his leave as I trust two such enterprising women will have this night well in hand.’ His glance lingered on Isabel’s face, then her injured arm.
‘Miss Morton, it might be best if you stayed at my sister’s an extra day or so, unless you have a dress with long sleeves with you. That cut on your arm might raise questions.’
‘Yes,’ Sophia inserted. ‘I’ll be able to get you a gown with longer sleeves, but wearing too much covering in this heat might cause more notice. You even have a slight bruise...’ She tapped a spot near her cheek. ‘But after all, the wasps were chasing me at a rapid pace before you flung your bonnet like a sword and frightened them away.’
William’s smile turned to Isabel alone. ‘Do not let her get too carried away or she will have you saving scores of infants and battalions of soldiers, and it will get difficult to remember the details.’ He leaned so close to Isabel that she could feel the flutter of his lashes, but the motion was in her chest. Almost whispering, he said, ‘But don’t even tell her one tiny little untruth and expect her not to remember every last detail.’
‘I heard that,’ Sophia said, voice loud. Then she resumed her regular tone. ‘It’s true.’
William murmured assent and spoke to Isabel. ‘I regret we met under such unpleasant circumstances and I hope you forget all about this night soon.’
The doorway framed him, then he left. His footsteps faded into distance and the room became just a room and she could feel the bruise on her face without touching it.
* * *
William trod down the stairs, forcing himself not to turn around. He rang for the butler and waited, tapping the pull against the wall.
Finishing the last two buttons of his coat, the butler arrived and asked, ‘Yes?’
‘I realised my sister has a friend visiting, so I’ll not be staying.’
‘Yes.’ He pulled his coat tight.
‘Watch over them.’
‘I always do.’ The knowledge of the first time William had visited Sophia in the middle of the night with his own key and nearly got his head bashed in by the servant reflected from the man’s eyes.
‘I know.’ William stayed a second longer, acknowledged the memory with a grim-lipped smile and walked out into the night.
The bolt in the door clicked.
William looked at his carriage, the three-quarter moon and the houses with mostly dark windows.
He heard the woman’s voice again and turned to the open window well above him. Murmurings and a ‘Goodness!’ from Sophia, and then more murmurings and a shocked exclamation. Sophia should know better than to let in the night air, but he stood until one of the carriage horses whinnied and then he turned to go home.
He sat in the carriage, crossed his arms and leaned back into the leathered cushions. A hint of her rose fragrance remained in the vehicle. The knowledge of how close he’d been to leaving Wren’s earlier in the night gnawed at him. He needed to push all recollections of the past hours away and think of nothing but the fact the woman was safe, alive and cared for.
The vision of her face when the knife had been at her throat stayed in his mind. He’d been so close to walking out the door and the Songbird’s life would have been altered for ever. If not for the waggling feather, he would have.
He ran a hand over his knuckles and swollen fingers, inspecting them. When they healed, he might visit Wren again.
Then he brushed a smear of dried blood away. But before the singer left London, he would make his way to his sister’s house and ask Isabel to sing something for him. He smiled. He imagined them standing side by side at his sister’s pianoforte and music filtering through the room.
* * *
The thought remained in his head until he walked inside his parlour. The view from the window was not fascinating, but he never seemed to tire of it. He stood at the middle of the three windows looking down and could hardly see outlines in the darkness below. Another row of town houses, just like his. Another row of windows, just like his. He didn’t care to see the interiors of them or what lay beyond the panes. He feared he might see a rug, just like his. But he knew he wouldn’t see furnishings like his. The room had almost none except for the two tables, the stiff-backed chair and a pretence of a desk with serviceable lamps. The servants’ quarters were better fitted than this room, he