The Lady He Longed For: Scandals of Scarcliffe Hall, #3

By Gemma Blackwood

 

A brooding lord encounters his widowed childhood sweetheart – and they uncover a secret that could change everything…

Lord Jonathan Hartley's first love left him a broken man. Now that Isabella is back, widowed, wounded and more lovely than ever, the last thing he wants to do is revisit the past.

But Isabella has a way of digging up all the secrets he thought he had buried. His undimmed love for the tragic heiress is only one of them.

If Jonathan wants to find happiness again, he must first conquer his demons – and then, his enemies.

Isabella, the widowed Countess of Streatham, knows she belongs in Jonathan's arms. But she is no longer the naïve debutante who believed in true love, and marriage brought her pain she vowed never to endure again.

Jonathan abandoned her once, and if he wants her forgiveness, she will make him fight for it.

Whether she falls in love again is quite a different question.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gemma Blackwood
• Release date: Oct 16, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223545903

Book preview

Prologue

Whenever Isabella thought of Lord Jonathan Hartley, her mind returned to their last summer in Annesley. To the golden sunlight shining through the orchard, the dampness of dew on her skirts, and the green tang of half-ripe apples. Jonathan was a laughing boy, freshly eighteen and full of the arrogance of youth. He would climb the trees until the branches were thin and pluck off apples to pelt the girls below. But he never struck too hard, or aimed too sharply. It was a game, like the other games both new and old they had played together that summer, and games were not supposed to hurt.

You’ll break your neck, Jonathan’s brother, Robert, warned lazily from his place on the blanket. The sun had seeped into their bones that afternoon. Moving was too much to contemplate for everyone but Jonathan.

Not likely, Jonathan scoffed, reaching for a higher branch. Isabella shaded her eyes to watch his dextrous limbs moving through the branches. He was as at home in the trees as a squirrel, or perhaps the monkey her father had brought back from India that spring. Jonathan shared other qualities with Hugo the capuchin monkey. They each had a certain disregard for rules. A tendency to be saucy rather than serious. And a carelessness for their own safety that bordered on the reckless.

Oh, and they both loved Isabella. Though Hugo loved her because she fed him peanuts, and Jonathan loved her for her whole soul. He had told her so.

"Not you, groaned Robert, pushing himself to his feet. Hart, you know the child copies everything you do!"

He leapt forward and caught their younger sister by the waist just as her slippered foot skidded from a branch.

"I am not a child, Celia protested, wriggling out of Robert’s arms. I’m thirteen!"

She’s right, called Jonathan, perching on a fork in the branches and watching the scene with no sign of contrition. She can climb trees if she wants.

You’ve ruined your dress, Cee, said Robert, holding Celia by the shoulders. And it’s me who’ll be punished for it. You know Father never blames you for anything.

That’s true, Celia grinned, her brown eyes sparkling. Isabella pushed herself up reluctantly and inspected the damage.

Your skirt is ripped to pieces. Let me take you in to change before your parents see.

There was a rustle in the branches above them. Jonathan was swinging down, sending leaves shivering and a few plump apples tumbling to the ground. Celia squealed and threw her arms over her head.

"Be careful! You’re never careful!"

Nor are you, said Jonathan, landing at Isabella’s side. He had presumably intended to spring down as gracefully as an acrobat but was sent staggering by the shock of the fall. Isabella bit her lip to hide her laughter.

Robert took Celia’s hand. I’ll take her, he said. A glimmer of understanding passed between him and Jonathan. Don’t fall out of any trees while I’m gone, Hart.

I never fall, said Jonathan. His hand went to his pocket, his fingers drumming briefly on the outline of a small, circular object inside it. Robert did not know what was in there and did not even notice the gesture. But Isabella knew.

Jonathan watched his siblings walk back to the house, Celia’s small hand in Robert’s big one, carefully avoiding the table where their parents were all having tea.

Sit with me, he said, collapsing with a heavy thud onto the blanket. Isabella lowered herself beside him, moving with self-conscious grace.

The long grass obscured everyone else from view. There was nothing in the world any more but the sun-warmed blanket, the arching apple trees, and Jonathan.

They lay together with Isabella’s head on his shoulder and his arms wrapped around her, their hands intertwined on her chest. The air was so full of sweetness Isabella could hardly bear it: the straw-scent of dry grass; the sweet-sour apples split by their long fall; the fresh soap-smell of Jonathan’s skin. She closed her eyes and stilled her breathing.

It was one long, perfect moment amid a summer of long, perfect moments.

Jonathan bent his head to press his lips into her hair. I was thinking that I ought to speak to your father.

A ripple of joy began in Isabella’s heart and spread to fill every fingertip. Not because it was a surprise – it was far from that. She felt the way she had as a child on Christmas morning, when the brown paper around the mysterious packages was so crisp and full of promise. She was about to unwrap the first sweet event of a life that would be full of sweetness, and Jonathan, and joy. She wanted to savour the moment.

Is there anything to tell Papa that he hasn’t already guessed?

Jonathan lifted his head until his lips were inches away from hers. Just as her lips parted in anticipation of a kiss, he took the round object from his pocket and held it up for her.

I need to give this back to you someday soon, he said. To seal a certain promise.

Isabella glanced down at the ring with its tiny emerald stone. She closed her hand over it. You must keep that one, she said. It will bring you luck.

As you wish. Jonathan slipped her ring back into his pocket. What would you like for your engagement ring? Diamonds? Rubies?

I want the ring you choose for me, she said. It will be perfect. Just as you are.

Then, at last, Jonathan bent to kiss her. I am ready to be everything to you, he murmured. You are already everything to me.

Each time they kissed, Isabella felt her passion growing. Jonathan had begun their courtship slowly, carefully, letting them discover the art of love piece by piece. He had never pushed her or tempted her beyond her limits, as her friends told her their sweethearts often tried to do. But it was Isabella now who was pushing for more, Isabella who was temptress and tempted at once.

They had known each other from earliest childhood, had been confirmed sweethearts since sixteen. Two years later, and there was no longer anything childlike about how deeply she wanted him. She was already his and knew she would be forever.

A few vows in church meant nothing compared to the words they had already spoken.

When? she asked him, a little breathlessly. Jonathan stroked her cheek lightly with his fingers. He always touched her as though she was a precious object, a holy relic or a piece of antique porcelain from the far east, delicately painted and rimmed with gold.

Shall we wait until your birthday?

Isabella longed to say no. She would not turn eighteen for weeks. The golden summer would be over by the time Jonathan asked for her hand.

I think it will make your parents happier, said Jonathan. I know your mother cannot stand the thought of parting with you. He linked his fingers through hers and brought them to his lips. I understand why. There is only one of you, Isabella.

She knew what he meant. She was her parents’ only daughter, though they had longed for more children. She carried the weight of all their hopes and dreams.

It was not a fine match that they desired for her – though Lord Jonathan Hartley, son of the Marquess of Lilistone, was certainly that. Her parents wanted her to be happy. They wanted her to make the right choice, as they had done.

They did not understand that Isabella had chosen many years before, and that her faith in that choice would never waver.

You are right, she said. I think it will make Mama happier, even if it is only a matter of a few weeks. Why not wait, when we have all our lives to look forward to? I will be a woman grown, in any case, and after that she can hardly object.

Jonathan’s wry grin twisted his mouth at the corner. You think she would object to me?

Isabella pushed herself up onto her elbow and fixed him with a look of daring and desire. If she knew what liberties you had taken, she certainly would!

Jonathan caught her at the waist and pulled her down to him again. Then let us take what we can before I am sent away in disgrace.

If the pair of them had not been so caught up in their love, they would have realised that their laughter carried easily to the pretty little table where their parents sat. Every so often, as a peal of happy laughter drifted by on the light summer’s breeze, Lady Lilistone met the eyes of Mrs Price, and they shared a knowing smile as they sipped on their tea.

Who, after all, could possibly object to the union of Miss Isabella Price and Lord Jonathan Hartley?

Mama, I can’t, said Isabella, staring at herself in the mirror.

She was wearing the dress she had been looking forward to for months. It was simple but perfect, a beautiful, soft white muslin. Edged with red ribbons, to match the ones her maid had twined through her hair. She had dreamed of this dress. This night, this party – Jonathan’s proposal.

But her eyes were bright with tears, not excitement. Her skin was pale and dull with fatigue, her hands trembling, her chest full of a hot, heavy weight as though she had swallowed an anvil. Jonathan was not going to propose. And she was not going to her eighteenth birthday party.

You can, and you must, my darling, said Mrs Price, gripping her hands. Isabella could feel her mother willing strength into her, but compared to the loss of Jonathan, her mother’s love was barely tangible. Don’t let one foolish boy spoil your day.

He isn’t foolish, Isabella whispered. He isn’t a boy, and he hasn’t only spoiled my birthday – everything is ruined, everything!

Mrs Price took her daughter in her arms as she began to sob again. Sally, fetch a bowl of cold water, she said to the maid. Let’s see what we can do about these red eyes.

When they were alone save for the gentle chittering of Hugo the monkey in his cage, Mrs Price lifted Isabella’s chin. Have you answered his letter, my darling?

Isabella nodded, tears falling, throat too tight to speak. She knew she looked a mess. Even if she did go downstairs to greet her guests, who would want to dance with a girl who had been crying for days?

I haven’t sent anything since – since he –

But you have written a letter?

Isabella looked down. She prized honesty above all other qualities, and she refused to lie to her mother. But the thought of Mrs Price reading her pleas in the face of Jonathan’s betrayal was too much for her to bear.

I won’t ask you to show me, sighed Mrs Price. But I advise you to throw it on the fire.

Isabella’s eyes widened. Her mother held up a finger to forestall her protests.

You are young, Isabella, and I know you have many adventures before you – and much love, too. If Lord Jonathan can cast you off so easily, he is not worth your love. Even if you can persuade him to change his mind, what then? I could not bear to part with you for a man who thinks so little of you and has made you so unhappy.

I am unhappy because I love him, said Isabella. I – I only wish I understood. What happened? He means everything to me, and I would never think ill of him, no matter what I heard from anyone else!

Mrs Price led her to the bed and made her sit down. You have not yet told me why he broke with you. She sighed and touched Isabella’s cheek. Perhaps it was foolish of me to turn a blind eye as you wrote letters. You are so young, and you were not engaged… though I thought it would happen at any moment. I should have taken more care of your behaviour.

Isabella managed a watery smile. You would have forced me to write to him in secret, then?

"If I could have spared you this pain, my darling, I would have kept you locked away safely from all the world. But what good would that have done? You must live, and love, and find happiness. This is all a part of that journey. And you will be happy, Isabella. You may not believe it now, but you will learn to find joy again. She pressed her hands. Now, let’s wash your face and have you looking beautiful so that you can have some fun. I know it isn’t what you hoped for, but you must make the best of things until the sun shines for you once more. I will be at your side, I promise."

Isabella did her best to smile. Sally came in with the cold water, and Mrs Price dabbed at Isabella’s eyes and pinched her cheeks until her colour was almost back to normal.

As Isabella took her mother’s arm and made her way downstairs, it was as if she had stepped through her bedroom mirror and entered a different world. A place where everything looked the same, where music played and her mother smiled and her guests bowed and asked her for dances, but where it was all nevertheless backwards, distorted, wrong.

How could she dance while her heart was breaking?

My dear Miss Price, are you well?

Isabella forced a smile onto her face before she turned to see who had spoken.

Mr Jackson. Thank you so much for coming to my little party. Yes, thank you, I am quite well. She checked her dance card, unable to meet Gilbert Jackson's disquietingly steady gaze. I'm afraid I am not free until the last dance.

Then the last dance is mine, said Gilbert. Isabella felt a sudden wave of nausea at the thought of committing herself to dance until the end of the evening.

Forgive me, Mr Jackson, but I am already tired...

Gilbert leaned in close enough that she could see the prickle of sandy stubble on his upper lip. You may come to regret rejecting my invitation, Miss Price.

He closed his hand firmly on her arm and pulled her into a quiet corner. If Isabella had been less unhappy, she would have resisted him, but her grief proved such a distraction that she did not realise what was happening until she and Gilbert were standing apart together.

Unhand me, Mr Jackson, she said, as firmly as she could. This is not gentlemanly behaviour.

Fitting, as I am barely a gentleman in your estimation, said Gilbert, an ugly smirk twisting his mouth. Miss Price, I did not intend to warn you of the danger you are in, but circumstances have overtaken me, and I fear I have no choice.

Danger? Isabella cast her eyes about, searching for her mother. Mrs Price was on the other side of the room, collecting two glasses of lemonade. She would be back at Isabella's side within moments.

She relaxed a little, knowing that she would not long be trapped with Gilbert Jackson and his unsettling manner. It was a private ball, after all. Her parents would never invite anyone unsavoury. Gilbert had committed no greater crime than coming from a poor family. Perhaps he was not used to high society and did not know how to behave. Isabella reminded herself that she ought to be charitable to the less fortunate.

Mr Jackson, you certainly have a flair for drama, she said, fluttering her fan coquettishly. It had the benefit of drawing Gilbert's hungry stare away from her eyes. I am sure I am in no danger at all!

I did not mean physical danger, he said slowly. It is your reputation which is at risk.

This cut deeply, though Gilbert could not possibly know it. Isabella had compromised herself with Lord Jonathan. She had kissed him, stolen moments alone with him... written to him.

For that matter, she had once written to Gilbert, too, for quite a different reason. But that was some months ago now, and all was certainly forgiven.

All the rules about seemly behaviour had appeared so inconsequential while she and Jonathan were planning to marry. Now that those plans lay in ruins, she finally understood. The rules were there to protect her. If it became widely known that she had broken them, all her father's money might not recover her prospects.

Not that Isabella intended to marry at all, any more.

My reputation is not your concern, she said, and took a step away from him. Across the room, her mother had been detained by Lady Salisbury. Mrs Price glanced at her daughter, concerned, but Isabella smiled to show that she was not in need of immediate help. She could manage Gilbert on her own.

If he had something unpleasant to say, she would rather her mother did not hear it.

You will shortly understand why I am so concerned, said Gilbert. I'm afraid the young Earl of Scarcliffe is a tempestuous fellow - prone to anger and not at all discreet. He has shared his brother's business with enough of his friends that it will not remain a secret much longer.

Isabella froze, an icy tendril of fear uncurling down her spine. What business of Lord Jonathan Hartley's could possibly concern me? she asked, dreading the answer.

It was not at all what she expected. No. It was far, far worse.

Gilbert's smile turned oily. Why, that you had an understanding with poor Lord Jonathan – only to betray him. With me.

"You? Isabella could barely believe what she was hearing. I have never – I would never –"

It doesn't matter what you did, smirked Gilbert. It matters what Lord Jonathan believes. And I have given him good cause to believe me, as I can see you already know.

Isabella's hand moved self-consciously towards her eyes, which she knew were still reddened by her tears.

Why would you do this to me? she asked softly. I have never hurt you!

Have you not? Gilbert's gaze hardened from hunger to hatred. When you rejected my request for a dance, did that not hurt me? When you refused to join my table at Lady Salisbury's card party, did that not wound my standing among you and your merry friends? What of the picnic beside Annesley Lake, when you chose to sit with Viscount Kilgore's heir instead of me? You have cut me a thousand thoughtless ways, Miss Price. You made it clear at every turn that I am not good enough to be one of your friends. And then… He swallowed so hard that she saw his Adam’s apple bobbing furiously. Then I received your letter.

If I offended you, I am sorry, said Isabella. It was not intentional. I have never judged anyone by their wealth or status. The letter I wrote you was not intended to hurt you. I only wanted to explain –

No, Gilbert sneered. You only followed your parent's ambitions so blindly that you did not even notice society's prejudice against me. Well, Miss Price, I could not be your friend. I could not court you in the usual way: your letter made that clear. But I intend to be more than a friend to you now. I have ruined your reputation with the men you hoped would woo you, and you will soon find that you have no other choice but to accept my hand. Enjoy your ball. It will be the last time you find a rich man's heir showing you any interest.

He turned on his heel and marched away, leaving Isabella stunned. She racked her memories for evidence of Gilbert's accusations. Had she really been cruel to him? They were not close, it was true. If she was honest, she had known for some time that he was nursing a special interest in her, but she had done everything to discourage it – including writing him a heartfelt letter of thanks and refusal.

Had she snubbed him? Was she truly nothing but a snobbish heiress, blind to