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

the knee. She
examined her reflection in the mirror.
    “ It’s hopeless, Julia!”
    Julia pursed her lips thoughtfully while shaking her
head. “Put on the waistcoat. Maybe you won’t show so much.” But the
waistcoat made little difference; the curves of Isobel’s bosom were
still obvious.
    “ I just knew it was too good to be
true.” She threw a small pillow across the room before plopping
down on the bed.
    “ What if you keep your coat
fastened all the time?”
    “ That won’t work—I’ll have to take
it off sometime.” She stared morosely at the spot where the pillow
had landed. “But, of course!” She jumped up and started to loosen
her shirt, smiling gleefully as she pulled it over her
head.
    “ What is it?”
    “ If I cannot flatten myself, then
I must do the opposite.” She grabbed another pillow and held it to
her stomach so the top of it was level with the bottom of her
breasts. “Give me a sash or something.” She held out a hand. She
took the stocking Julia handed her and tied it securely around
herself. This time when she had her clothes buttoned—shirt,
waistcoat and frock coat—the effect was to make her look slightly
plump. After she had secured a black wig on her head, she no longer
recognized herself. “Well?” She held her hands out to Julia for her
approval after she had pulled on the boots.
    “ How pleasant to meet you, Mr.
Boxham!” Julia curtsied prettily, calling her by the name Isobel
had chosen—Boxham, after her mother’s maiden name, and Ian
Frederick, after her initials.
    Isobel took up a handkerchief and waved it about in
a foppish manner. “Oh, Lady Julia,” she minced, “M’pon honor,
you’re a devilishly pretty woman! Has anyone ever told you that?”
They dissolved into giggles when she rested all her weight on one
leg and made a show of brushing at the lace of her cuffs. “A bloody
shame if you’re engaged, I vow!”
    III
    The concert at Lord Huntingdon’s was a
nerve-wracking affair, for though Isobel was entirely ignored
before she played, afterward she became the darling of the guests.
She was amazed to find no one seemed even the least bit suspicious.
There were several inquiries about where to send invitations for
future playing engagements, which she answered by responding that
at the moment she was entirely in the hands of Mr. Faircourt.
    In the carriage on the way home, she leaned back in
the seat and closed her eyes. “Thank God that’s over!” she said. “I
thought I was going to faint from nerves! Can you believe not one
person guessed?” She opened her eyes to look at Faircourt.
    “ You were a huge success, Miss St.
James, as I knew you would be.”
    “ Is everything all right?” she
asked, concerned at the odd tone of his voice.
    “ Perfectly.”
    “ I’m exhausted.”
    “ You had better get used to it,
for you have a future in this.”
    “ Then, I have everything I could
possibly want.”
    “ No one must suspect you, Miss St.
James. We must be more careful than ever, now society’s eye is
fixed on Master Ian Boxham.” Faircourt leaned forward and tapped
her knee with his knuckles. “Isobel St. James must take care to
develop habits that will provide explanations for her absences from
society, once you are formally introduced, that is.”
    “ Whatever you say, Mr. Faircourt.
We are, both of us, entirely in your hands.”

Chapter 9
     
     
    I
    Isobel and her father spent Christmas at Marblestone
Park, in South Oxon, the seat of the Chessingham earldom. She spent
a great many hours at the fortepiano, much to the pleasure of her
father, though it concerned him that she spent so long at the
instrument. The countryside was lovely and, until the house was
overrun by guests, going on long morning rides with her father and
afternoon walks by herself were her chief recreations while they
remained there.
    Once, during one of her walks, she came upon what
looked to be an ancient Roman ruin, and that night she anxiously
awaited her