Passion's Song (A Georgian Historical Romance) by Carolyn Jewel Page A

was
very neatly bandaged and it rested lightly on the floor. His shoe
was black, and recently polished, with a gleaming gold buckle; his
stockings, too, were black, and they were tucked nicely into the
bottoms of his breeches. He wore a large gold ring on the little
finger of his right hand, and on his left hand two large yellow
diamonds.
    Robert St. James, third earl of Chessingham, leaned
on an ivory-handled cane of a highly polished black wood as he
walked toward the girl who stood quietly at his brother’s side.
Except for the unmistakable color of her eyes, he would never have
guessed she was his daughter. She was far too thin, poorly dressed,
plain, and worst of all, she looked like some bloody serving girl,
though he doubted it was her fault, seeing as how she had been
brought up in the wilds of America. He stopped in front of her and
reached out to move her chin to get a look at her profile. He hoped
it would not be an impossible task to make her into a proper
Englishwoman. She did not seem to be ill at ease in his presence,
and he took her poise to be a sign that she might be made into
something. With any luck, Catherine would have given her some
breeding. “You may call me ‘Father,’” he said when he let go of her
chin. “Where did Edward find you?” He turned to his brother.
    “ She was in New York. Both
Catherine and her husband are dead. She was living with the man’s
cousin,” Edward answered.
    “ Was he unable to clothe her
properly? She looks like a deuced chambermaid!” The earl swept a
disdainful eye in Isobel’s direction and addressed his brother, who
only looked uncomfortable and did not answer.
    “ How old are you now, child?” He
jabbed the silver-tipped end of his cane at her.
    “ She is just seventeen,” Edward
answered again.
    “ Does she not speak English?” he
asked coldly, raising one heavy eyebrow to underscore his
sarcasm.
    “ Of course I do, Father.” Isobel’s
voice was soft. “I’m afraid Mr. St. James”—she looked at
Edward—“found me in reduced circumstances.”
    He turned to his brother. “I trust there was no
trouble with the cousin?”
    “ Indeed, he did not seem loath to
see her go.”
    The earl shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “Come,
child, sit with me. My foot begins to bother me.” Isobel sat on the
chair he indicated when he sat down again on the sofa. She picked
up a cushion and put it underneath his outstretched leg. “Thank
you, my girl.” He looked down to where his foot pressed into the
silk of the pillow.
    “ Does it hurt much?” she
asked.
    “ Damnably.” He winced as he
settled his foot on the pillow.
    “ What happened?” She tucked her
booted feet out of sight under the chair when she saw the pained
glance he gave them.
    “ Gout.”
    “ Why did you bring me
here?”
    Edward had to smile when he saw her using the same
forthright glance his brother had used so effectively on him.
    “ You get right to the point, don’t
you?” Lord Chessingham gave her a sharp look. “I think perhaps you
need to learn some English manners.” He thought such American
boldness was entirely unfeminine and that to be plain on top of it
would be nothing short of disaster.
    “ I am sorry, Father, if I have
offended you,” she said contritely, shrugging her shoulders in a
curiously elegant movement that made the earl raise his eyebrows.
“But, less than a month ago I thought myself an orphan, and now I
find I am really the daughter of an English aristocrat.” She was
impatient from wondering what her future was to be, but still she
was surprised to hear how bluntly she spoke.
    “ Your mother was a beautiful
woman,” he said, “and I should have married her had her station
been only a little higher. The second earl did not think the
difference could be overcome. He had already arranged a marriage.
But I did not bring you here to discuss my past.” He rapped his
cane on the floor. “May I see the locket?”
    “ The locket?” It took a