If You Were Mine Read online

  Feeling somewhat reassured by the lingering scent and ephemeral presence of her elder brother, she returned to the window and eased herself out into the darkness of the night.

  Her heart thumped heavily in her chest when her fingers locked tightly on the crisscrossing timbers of the trellis. She fought the surge of bile in her throat. Glancing down into the gaping maw of inky blackness beneath her, she willed her trembling in her knees to stop long enough to hold her upright, and she fought desperately to let go of the trellis long enough to slide the window closed.

  You’ve come this far, don’t let it beat you now, she castigated herself. She slowly eased the window silently downward, and began to make her way through the rough thorn-laden rose bushes to the ground below.

  Isobel fought to keep her knees from buckling when she reached the safety of the solid ground. Thankful for the small mercy of being in one piece, she eased Peter’s boots onto her chilled feet, pulling her meagre jacket and cloak around her thin shoulders with a shiver. She wished briefly she had taken the time to bring her shawl regardless of the strange looks she would draw. Ruefully she looked downward at her masculine attire, and considered the eyebrows that would be raised should she wear a shawl to match. Now that certainly would draw attention!

  A shiver of cool night air ruffled the loose folds of her thin shirt, making her shiver. Isobel pushed away from the house and took off across the yard, careful to keep off the gravel and deep within the shadows of the low standing hedgerows.

  Within minutes, she had disappeared among the shadows of the woodland to the side of the house, a mere wisp of a memory in the night. Her tread was so thin and silent that anybody bothering to look out into the gardens would have seen little but the shifting of the shadows in the darkened garden. Certainly, nothing that would forewarn of the looming change of events that was to come.

  She trudged on through the long hours of the night, feet aching, desperately considering the options available to her. Valiantly ignoring the increasing pounding in her head and empty rumble of her stomach, she briefly stopped to drink from a tiny stream on the outskirts of a small hamlet just as dawn rose above the horizon.

  Although she blessed the foresight of her elder brother for putting the boots into the drawer with his clothing, she wished his feet had been somewhat smaller because the boots had started to chafe the tender soles of her feet, and she was already sore and uncomfortable. How far away was Cumbria anyway?

  “Oh dear Lord,” Isobel groaned. She wished she had taken a few moments to purloin one of her uncle’s horses, but knowing Rupert as she did she knew he would take great delight in having her arrested for horse theft. At least on foot, although slow, she could vanish relatively easily. As long as she kept out of sight and away from the busy roads, she should be fine.

  Fear compelled her to ignore her physical discomfort and continue onwards. She stopped once or twice to study the mileage stones knowing that as long as she went in the opposite direction to London, she would be heading north and towards Cumbria and far away from Gosport Hall, and Rupert.

  Vaguely, she could recall going through Cumbria as a young child to visit a distant relative, and knew it was some considerable distance away. But as a child her perception of the passing countryside from the window of a speeding carriage, was vastly different to those of an adult on foot. Nothing looked familiar. She had only her wits and her vague sense of direction to guide her, and that knowledge didn’t fill her with much confidence at all.

  Having spent most of the night walking, exhaustion was looming. She had no idea where she was, but could only hope it was several miles away from her Uncle Rupert. As an excellent horsewoman, she knew that the distance she had spent most of the night and day creating could be easily covered on horseback in half the time, and given her dire situation, time and distance were of the essence.

  Kitty would almost certainly have been discovered by now. Isobel prayed that the woman hadn’t been suspected of helping her, and had been considered a victim of Isobel’s duplicity, and left alone.

  “Now, where to?” Isobel gasped, her breath coming in shallow pants. Tears pricked her eyes as a sense of isolation and loneliness swept through her. She tipped her head backwards and looked at the twinkling stars through the heavy canopy of trees. Dusk settled over the horizon, and already it had begun to grow cold. There was a fine tremor in her fingers from exhaustion and hunger that had grown worse throughout the day. Despite the threat of discovery by her uncle, she knew she couldn’t physically continue for much longer.

  How she longed for the solid comfort of a chair, a warm fire and a good meal. She had spent most of the day walking through fields and skirting towns. For miles and miles, she had trudged onwards, ducking low to avoid farmers and the watchful eyes inside passing carriages. So far, she had not seen any sign of her uncle or any of his servants, but knew that although she couldn’t see him, it didn’t mean he wasn’t there somewhere.

  As far as she could tell, the only eyes that had seen her had been those of sheep and cows. She could afford to rest for a little while. She simply had to. Carefully, she dug into her cloak pocket and removed one of the two remaining apples she had purloined from an orchard earlier that afternoon. With a tiny pang of guilt, she bit into its ripe sweetness, closing her eyes briefly to savour the tangy moisture of the juice upon her tongue. She could not remember ever being as thirsty as she was now. She quickly devoured the apple, considering how she would get herself to Coniston while she had the strength.

  “Up in the Lakes.” Kitty had said, but how did one go about finding Annie in the Lake District?

  Deciding she would face that bridge when she came to it, Isobel eased herself down onto her back in the long grass, out of sight, on the edge of the trees and carefully covered herself up with her cloak as best she could. Immediately, she was encased in meagre warmth that did little to soothe her aching limbs, yet within seconds she fell into an exhausted sleep.

  Isobel awoke with a soft cry, tears streaming steadily down her face as the enormity of her situation swept through her.

  “Oh Dominic, why?” Her lament was absorbed by the cushion of grass beneath her as she succumbed to the sobs bubbling within. She knew there would be no answer because there never was.

  She thought she had come to know him, but had clearly been made a fool of.

  It had been horrific enough to learn of her brother being slain during a fierce battle with the smugglers he and Dominic had been sent to vanquish, but to learn of Dominic’s heartless betrayal mere days after her brother’s death had left her with more questions than answers. Had his friendship with her brother meant nothing to him? Had the man never heard of loyalty?

  Clearly not because he had reneged on every promise he had given her, except one. He had remained safe while her brother Peter had not. She had learnt from Aunt Elspeth that only a few days after his departure with Peter, on their supposedly secret mission against the smugglers in Norfolk, he had returned to his father’s estate in Berkshire and wed a woman he had apparently been betrothed to for some time.

  In her innocence, Isobel had waited for him. She had believed his promises and had willingly accepted him into her heart and body, blindly believing his assurances with a heart full of hope and joyful anticipation.

  She had blithely ignored the change in his demeanour on the day of his departure and had worried for his safety for weeks, only to learn of his cruel betrayal in the worst possible way. Before he had left, he had made it clear that had not wanted her to write to him, and had left no direction for her to make contact. Nor had he made any promises to write to her or send any word whatsoever. A circumstance she had accepted without question. At least now she understood why he had been so vaguely distant.

  Her thoughts immediately turned to the day her uncle had reappeared in her life. Already distraught with being informed of Peter’s demise, she was numb with disbelief when he had poured scorn upon her tears, casting her as a foolish addle-brai
ned girl with no prospects and no suitors prepared to take her on. Cruelly finding humour in her distress, he had imparted the news of Dominic’s recent marriage to another with a sense of satisfaction that was clear to see. She had listened with only half an ear as her uncle had ranted that her own wild mannered, eccentric family had rendered her unattractive to anyone other than the most heartless rogue, who was after everything she could give without taking her to wife. She, stupid girl whom she was, would undoubtedly have given him everything. He had railed at her with such derision in his face that Isobel had flinched at the surge of humiliation that swept through her.

  Rupert’s tirade had seemed endless as he had poured equal scorn upon her aunt for encouraging such wanton behaviour, before sweeping a devastated Isobel from the house. There had barely been enough time to pack anything before she had been so cruelly ripped from her aunt’s care and Willowbrook Hall, her home. In her grief, she had not had the will to protest, and had meekly followed her uncle’s direction without question.

  After several moments of indulgent weeping, Isobel swiped the dampness from her cheeks as she stood on the tree line of the wooded glade. It felt as though she was in the middle of nowhere. With the first stain of sunlight breaking over the horizon, she contemplated her situation before slowly resumed her onward journey, trying desperately to ignore the growing sense of helpless isolation that increased with each passing mile.

  Whatever the future held for her, she could not go back now. She had the remaining days of summer warmth in which to travel, and knew that if she was to survive, she needed to make the most of them. If she kept off the roads and away from the villages, she had every chance of succeeding in her quest. Life wouldn’t be as cruel as to send her back to Rupert, would it?

  She had only a few meagre coins in her pocket. Certainly not enough to get her through the winter, but she wasn’t afraid to work for her keep. Indeed, she had thoroughly enjoyed the few times she had been allowed down into the kitchens to make jam and tarts with Cook. She had no fear of hard work. But how she was to go about persuading anyone to employ her without references; she wasn’t sure. She now understood why Kitty had sent her to her cousin’s house. They would surely know the best way she should go about trying to maintain her independence, at least for the immediate future.

  Briefly, she wondered how Kitty had managed, and if indeed she was far behind her, or whether she too was locked in the gloomy depths of the house that had become her prison. She quickly stifled the wayward thoughts that meandered in the direction of Dominic, and his residence on his country estate in Melton, firmly eschewing all notions of happening by his marital home.

  It was one thing to learn of his heartless betrayal, quite another to see the woman who had claimed his heart and his protection, in the flesh.

  Thoughtfully pondering the ramifications of her flight, Isobel resolutely trudged onwards along the daring new path her life had taken.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Two Months Later

  Leicestershire

  “We will have revenge,” Dominic declared softly, staring sightlessly down at the rectangle of recently dug earth before them, his heart a leaden weight within his chest. The earth had been dug only a few weeks before, yet weeds and grass had already nearly covered the soil. “He will pay for what he has done.” He shot his friend a darkly menacing look.

  Raw pain lanced through him as he watched Peter rhythmically tug at the myriad of weeds, slowly twisting their mangled path around the simple wooden cross marking her final resting place. Isobel. Peter’s sister, and the woman Dominic wanted as his wife. He adored her.

  Dominic settled down onto the wet grass beside the grave, oblivious to the increasing wind and driving rain, and allowed himself to think back to their time together.

  Peter had introduced them several months earlier, when Dominic had finally been in a position to accept his friend’s invitation to visit. Having met fighting the French on the horrific battlefields, Dominic had quickly found a friend in Peter, and had listened to his frequent reminiscences of Isobel’s exploits. It had been an attempt by both men to briefly escape the death and destruction surrounding them. The mental image he had built up of his stalwart friend’s intriguing sibling had tempted and teased Dominic, haunting his dreams to such an extent that despite his battle-hardened cynicism, he found himself almost eager to make her acquaintance upon their return to England.

  Unfortunately, his visit to Willowbrook, her home, had been delayed by the demise of his uncle, who had bequeathed Dominic his somewhat failing estates. They had taken considerable time to resolve sufficiently to allow Dominic the time to take an extended visit to Oxfordshire. In the intervening time since his return from the war, Dominic’s family had frequently hinted that they expected him to find himself a suitable wife and establish his nursery without delay.

  When he was eventually able to accept Peter’s invitation, he was stunned to discover Peter hadn’t done his sister any justice at all. He hadn’t described her rosebud lips, the teasing glint in her periwinkle blue eyes, or the delicate curls in the luxurious mass of jet-black hair she usually tried, and failed, to keep confined in a bun at the nape of her slender neck. Her gentle, somewhat eccentric nature and infinitesimal charm made her without doubt, the most captivating woman Dominic had met for some considerable time. Her slightly wilful nature had intrigued rather than offended him, until he found it increasingly difficult to be parted from her for any length of time.

  Thankfully, her brother Peter hadn’t been averse to Dominic’s interest in his sister and although not outwardly encouraging a union, had ensured the couple had been allowed sufficient time alone together to get to know each other. Dominic had remained at Willowbrook with Peter and Isobel for several weeks, before the pressing need to return to his own estate in Melton had driven him to take his leave. It had been somewhat surprising to him to discover how much of a wrench it was to leave her behind. It had been even more of a shock to learn how miserable he was without her sunny smiles and gentle humour to brighten his day. Once at Melton, he had held out for as long as possible before he had sought an excuse to make a return journey to see her.

  Over the course of several months, Dominic had visited Willowbrook, and Isobel numerous times with an eagerness that had grown rather than diminished. When the occasion didn’t warrant a visit to Willowbrook, Dominic had sought excuses to visit his uncle who resided a few miles away. Luckily this put him in the same locale as Isobel, and meant that he could afford her the time she needed to get to know him, and become accustomed to their growing relationship, hopefully without the need for him to throw himself upon his knees at her feet to beg for her hand.

  If only he had known then what he knew now. He should have thrown himself upon his knees and begged for her mercy at the first opportunity. He should have sought her acceptance of his proposal before leaving her for Norfolk. Instead of following the dictates of his mission for the Prince Regent, he should have waited even a couple of days and rushed through a hasty marriage before leaving her within the safe confines of Havistock Hall under the protection of his staff. If he had, she would most certainly be alive now, and would not have spent the last weeks of her life at the hands of her merciless, despot uncle.

  In a cruel twist of irony, the certain knowledge that if they had only been a few weeks earlier, she would have been alive, lay like a heavy weight in his heart. She would not have been driven to run for her life, into the darkness of the night, to face God knows what.

  As he sat helplessly beside the grave of the woman who owned his soul, Dominic cursed fate and Rupert Davenport for the cruel grief they had played upon him.

  “You have to get on with your life Dominic,” Peter muttered, swiping at the mixture of tears and raindrops upon his own face. “You cannot allow this to make you bitter.”

  Dominic looked askance at his friend, and shook his head regretfully.

  “My life now, such as it is, is with her,” he nodded towar
ds the darkened earth at his feet. “Rupert cannot and will not get away with this. Not while I have breath in my body Peter. I have to have vengeance.”

  Grief settled its deathly cloak around his shoulders as he stood beside the simple grave in the quiet of the rural graveyard. Silence settled between them, Dominic’s tears mingling with the gentle pattering of icy raindrops as he gave in to the bleakest emotions of bitterness and regret he had ever experienced in his life. Devastation threatened to suck him under.

  Struggling to draw a breath against the tightening around his heart, he longed to roar out his denial of losing her.

  “I should never have left her the way I did,” Dominic bit out, tilting his head back to look at the darkened clouds ahead. The swirling myriad of cold greys matched the icy bleakness in his heart. He was vaguely aware of Peter rising to his feet to stand beside him.

  They were almost equal in height as they stood shoulder to shoulder beside the newly dug earth for several moments, each lost in their own thoughts.

  “Do you know where he has gone?” Dominic asked, his voice shaking with barely concealed emotion.

  “No, but we will find out,” Peter replied softly, lost in his own quiet contemplation.

  “She needs a proper gravestone,” Dominic dropped to one knee, and slowly trailed a gentle finger around one arm of the roughly carved cross. “Why did they bury her so quickly?”

  “I don’t know, but I have sent word to the Magistrate to meet us here. I want answers. She cannot stay in such a desolate place. This isn’t where she belongs. She needs to go back to Willowbrook Hall, and be interred in the family crypt with Father and Mother,” Peter replied, staring sightlessly at the ground at his feet.