And were it not for the tormenting ache in her heart, such sensible reminders would have been adequate.
But she managed to greet Dermott before the main door with equanimity, and on their ride back to London, she even spoke with a certain casualness. It was a performance equal to the best on the Covent Garden stage, and if she'd not been crying inside, she could have appreciated the stellar quality of her dramatic talents.
Shortly before they reached Molly's, Dermott said, "I'll see that your relatives no longer bother you. My lawyer's been looking into the situation. You should be able to safely return home soon."
"Payment for my services?" Her voice was sharp. "Forgive me," she instantly apologized, understanding it wasn't his fault she'd allowed herself to daydream of more. "It's very kind of you, but not necessary. Molly's plan is sufficient."
"There's always the possibility of scandal with Molly's idea. I'd rather you let me do this for you."
"Soothing your conscience, Bathurst?" she gently inquired.
"I don't have a conscience. I thought you knew that."
"Of course, how naive of me to forget."
"I didn't intend for this to happen," he quietly said. "I'm sorry."
"No need to apologize." She managed a small smile. "I enjoyed myself." Pale words for the resplendent pleasure he'd given her, the blandest of thanks for introducing her to paradise.
"As did I." He didn't smile; he looked at her, seated across from him, with a shuttered gaze. "I'll send a message to Molly's as soon as it's safe for you to go home."
He didn't escort her into Molly's. He only helped her down from the carriage, bowed faintly, and said, "It was a pleasure, Isabella."
"Yes, very much," she answered, curtailing her tears with superhuman effort.
Mercer had a footman pick up her valises.
Dermott glanced at the man and then, turning his attention back to her, said, "Thank you again." Swinging back toward his carriage, he ordered "Bathurst House" in a clear, strong voice, and stepping up through the door held open by one of his grooms, he entered his carriage.
"This way, my lady," Mercer murmured, conscious of her stricken look.
Isabella took a deep breath and turned. How many times had he said good-bye to a ladylove, she wondered, in that cool, well-bred way. She entered Molly's through the blue door that had once offered her refuge on a wet, dark night and surveyed the resplendent marble entrance hall. She'd first seen Dermott there. It seemed like a hundred years ago. In another lifetime-when she'd not yet tasted the sweet ecstasy he dispensed with a prodigal hand, when she'd not known the agonizing torment of unrequited love. When she was an untried maid.
"Isabella!"
Molly's voice rang down the staircase, and looking up, Isabella smiled at the woman who'd given her so much.
They met midway on the stairs and hugged, and then Molly escorted her to the drawing room. "Sit down now and tell me everything." She smiled. "Or at least what you wish. Oh, dear," she added, taking note of Isabella's quivering lip as she took a seat on the brocaded settee. "He's broken your heart."
"I didn't expect he could," Isabella whispered as the tears spilled from her eyes.
"He deserves a thrashing," Molly exclaimed, moving to enfold Isabella in a comforting embrace. "I was afraid of this."
"It's not his fault."
"Of course it's his fault. I told him not to take you to Richmond."
"But I wanted to go."
"He's too wretchedly charming. As always. Dear, dear," she soothed. "Don't cry for him. He's far from worth it."
Isabella looked up, her eyes filled with tears. "Did you know of his wife and son?"
"He told you?"
"I found him this morning crying before their portrait. He has a shrine of sorts in the library."
"They died four years ago today," Molly softly said. "He's not been able to forget. And for that reason and others I implore you to not pine for him."
"I've told myself as much, but it's not quite so simple."
"With time, my dear, you'll find other pleasures."
Sitting up straight, Isabella wiped away her tears with her shawl. "I told myself that as well," she said with a small smile.
"I have something of interest that might distract you from your melancholy."
"Not another Dermott?" A tentative teasing note colored her voice.
"Something less disastrous. You know the season is just beginning."
"You jest, surely. You know my life was of the simplest before Grandpapa died."
"It would be an opportunity to show Dermott you're capable of surviving without him."
"I doubt he'd notice or be concerned."
"Would you like him to?"
"Notice me?"
Molly shrugged. "It depends how you feel about him."
Isabella pursed her mouth. "Sad and angry both. But hardly hopeful of more. You said yourself he's not worth pining over."
"Good. What say you to perhaps finding a suitor who would return your love?"
"In the ton? I'm not sure I'd be accepted."
"If I made it possible, would you be interested in being launched this season?"
"Me?" The notion was preposterous and yet in some faint degree intriguing.
"You're beautiful, wealthy-once your relatives are thwarted-and of good birth on your mother's side. Why not you? Heiresses are much in demand, you know."
Isabella smiled. "I suppose they are. Dermott said that he'd take care my uncles were no longer a danger to me."
"I've begun inquiries as well through my lawyers. Between Dermott and me, we should be able to return you to your home with your fortune intact. Especially with our trump card." She winked. "We can always threaten to expose your indiscretion and taint all the Leslies with the scandal. And most important, I have a sponsor for you with unimpeachable credentials."
Molly smiled. "Am I supposed to ask who?"
"You are, to which I answer, the Prince of Wales."
"No!"
"As a personal favor. And as you know, the Prince of Wales's influence overcomes all obstacles."
"My heavens! Never say I didn't barge through the right door when I ran away from home."
"It would be my great pleasure to give you a season. Who knows what nobleman might offer you his heart? What do you think?"
"I'm not sure. What a startling prospect. Or daunting, perhaps, coming from my sequestered background."
"You could put Dermott in his place. As an added bonus. He deserves it."
"You mean he'd be opposed to seeing me in society?"
"I think he might be opposed to seeing you with other men."
"Regardless he doesn't want me himself."
"Never say love is reasonable."
"Not love surely. Not with Dermott. You use the wrong word."
"He's never had a lady at Bathurst House nor at Richmond. It says something, despite his resistance to anything smacking of attachment."
"I could make him jealous, you mean."
"If you wish, or you could find yourself another man to love. With your lack of experience, perhaps you'd do well to survey a broader field before deciding you love Dermott Ramsay."
"Do you think this is love I feel?"
"That's for you to say. I wouldn't know. But a season would give you an opportunity to decide."
"What if I fail in this bid to be launched."
Molly laughed. "Dear girl, with your looks? Even without a shilling you'd have men falling at your feet. And with your fortune you'll have to beat them off."
"Really… beat them off?" It was a flattering notion to any young woman.
"No doubt of that. Say yes and I'll have a dressmaker in to fit you for a suitable wardrobe."
"Here? Forgive me."
"I have a home on Grosvenor Place as well. The widow, Mrs. Peabody, don't you know," she said, grinning.
"It does sound like a very enticing prospect."
"And you could annoy Dermott in the bargain."