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

moment for
her to understand what he meant. “Of course.” She reached to
unfasten it and hand it to him.
    “ This was the only thing I gave
Catherine that she did not return.” While he held the locket in his
palm, there was an instant when Isobel could believe he had once
been a young man. The moment ended when he looked up and handed the
necklace back to her. “You look a great deal like her.”
    “ You could have married her
anyway!” she blurted out.
    “ It was my duty to obey my
father’s wishes, and my father did not wish for me to marry your
mother.”
    “ Then you must not have loved her
very much.” The words were accusing and bitter.
    “ I loved her enough to bring you
here!” His face was stony and there was a tense moment of silence.
“My wife and children are dead,” he said at last, staring intently
at the carved handle of his stick. Their eyes met when he finally
lifted his head. “I intend for you to marry and provide me with a
grandson.”
    “ Won’t you have a difficult time
marrying off your bastard daughter?” She rankled at his imperious
tone. How could her mother have loved such a cold-hearted
man?
    “ Since I intend to acknowledge you
as my daughter there will be no shortage of young bucks clamoring
for your hand. Damme, there won’t, I own! You might be plain, but
wealth has a way of blinding men to such shortcomings. Edward, ring
for me!” Only after his brother had complied did he turn back to
Isobel. When a servant appeared not three minutes later, he gave
terse instructions. “See that Miss St. James’s things are taken to
her room. And send for a dressmaker immediately. My daughter is in
urgent need of a new wardrobe.” He looked at Isobel. “I am engaged
tonight, but we shall speak further at a later time. Mrs.
Godwaite”—he nodded at the woman who was standing deferentially at
the door—“shall see to it you obtain clothes appropriate to your
new station. You are to follow her advice exactly.”
    “ Of course, Father.”
    “ Tonight, you will do me the
goodness of having a tray sent up to your room, as I shan’t be
dining with you.” He looked steadily at her. “You have suddenly
become a woman with prospects. I hope you are up to the challenge.”
He nodded his head in dismissal.
    Isobel followed Mrs. Godwaite down the hall and into
a sitting room, where the woman told her in a tight little voice to
please wait and left her to her own devices. She amused herself by
walking slowly around the room but quickly pounced on a newspaper
she found lying on a small end table. She was more than halfway
through an account of the bills before the House of Commons when
she began to wonder if perhaps she might have been forgotten. She
had just stood up to find someone who might tell her what was
expected of her when the door opened. Mrs. Godwaite came in,
followed by another woman who turned out to be the sempstress, and
one of the housemaids.
    “ Miss St. James will be needing a
complete wardrobe,” Mrs. Godwaite said sternly to the woman, who
nodded and put down her basket. “See to it at least three or four
gowns are delivered immediately.” Isobel watched Mrs. Godwaite
while the sempstress pulled out a dress of a horrid brown color and
waited patiently while the maid helped her into it. “Have
undergarments sent as soon as possible,” Mrs. Godwaite added when
Isobel stood clad only in her shift. Mrs. Godwaite was a
dark-haired woman who looked as though she thought Isobel might
sprout the devil’s horns at any moment. Her tiny brown eyes were
nearly buried in her puffy face, and Isobel was afraid if she were
to smile they would disappear completely. Mrs. Godwaite stood
impassively while Isobel was prodded and poked and generally made
to feel put out. Not one word more was spoken during the entire
ordeal, and she was grateful when at last the sempstress packed
away her things and Mrs. Godwaite silently showed her to her
room.
    Her room really consisted of three