Footsteps could be heard tapping their way down the hall. "Charles? Where are you?"
Charles gasped. "It's my uncle. He's headed this direction. Quick, he mustn't see you. Hide in the—" No, the closet won't do. She would be terrified. "Hide over here, behind the curtains."
Isabella darted across the room and slipped behind the long, cream curtains. Her hand pulled the fabric around her. He waited until he saw no movement before opening the door.
"In here, Uncle." Charles took a deep breath, letting it out an increment at a time. Why did his uncle pick this particular moment to seek him out again?
"Ah, there you are." Sebastian waddled through the doorway. "We need to further discuss your dilemma."
"I wasn't aware I had one."
"The Christmas Eve Ball is in two weeks. You're running out of time to procure an escort. It's unseemly to wait until the last minute, you know. I'll not have our family name besmirched because of something you have or haven't done."
What should I do? With his unexpected guest in the house, he couldn't just go off to the ball and leave her alone. Someone else might stumble across her and have her hauled off to prison. He would never forgive himself if that happened.
His uncle crossed his arms over his tummy. "Well?"
Charles' tongue felt like sand. "I—"
His uncle sighed. "Charles, you're an adult, so I'll not demand this from you, but… it would make an old man happy to see his nephew settled…" He pivoted his head away "…before I die."
Charles rolled his eyes. Why was his uncle so dramatic? There was no one in all of London he wished to escort. Not a single woman. But he had to do something. Being harangued daily was getting tiresome. And the ton had certain expectations of a man in his position. He darted a glance toward the curtain. Did he dare?
Tap. Tap. Tap. His uncle connected his boot with the floor in impatience. "Charles—"
"Isabella."
His uncle raised his bushy gray eyebrows. "Excuse me?"
"She is who I'll be taking to the ball." Charles detected a tiny squeak and shuffle from behind the curtain. Hopefully his uncle hadn't heard it. A quick glance assured him his uncle was unaware they weren't alone in the room.
"I don't know anyone by that name who is of marriageable age."Sebastian widened his eyes. "Surely not Isabella Cornwell? She isn't even twelve years of age!"
Charles held up his hands. "No, no. Of course it isn't she. For what do you take me?"
"Well then who? Who is this Isabella? Is she from a connected family? Good breeding?"
Charles swallowed hard. He'd not even ascertained the woman's last name yet! "Ah… Russell. Isabella Russell."
His uncle rubbed his chin with a chubby hand. "I don't believe I know any Russells."
"They're fairly new to London, Uncle."
"I see."
No, you actually don't. Charles needed his uncle to accept the idea that he was taking someone unknown to the ball; someone he couldn't prove was worthy of his invitation. "Now you don't have to worry about me not having an escort. Yes? It's in enough time to not be considered unseemly."
Sebastian shrugged. "Yes… I suppose. But—"
A knock on the doorframe had both men turning toward the open doorway. Mary, one of their maids, stood with hands folded in front of her.
Sebastian tapped his boot. "Yes, Mary, what is it?"
Mary briefly raised her eyes in Charles' uncle's direction. "Excuse me, my lord, you're needed in the parlor. You have a visitor."
His uncle nodded. "Yes, yes. I'll be there momentarily."
Charles usually felt impatience with the servants, who seemed to appear at the most inopportune times. At least this time it came as a welcome reprieve. Charles held his breath until his uncle left the room. He hurried after him to the door and closed it with a soft click.
"All right, Isabella. You may come out now. It's safe."
****
Izzy bolted from behind the curtain, flailing her hands about in the air. "Are you crazy?"
Charles frowned. "No, I'm quite sane."
"I mean, what were you thinking? I can't go to a ball. In 1812. In one of those dresses. I can't even do the twist, much less a waltz."
He tilted his head. "Twist?"
She waved a hand in his direction. "It's an old… Never mind."
Charles crossed the room to stand near her. He took her hands in his. "I'm sorry to have put you in this uncomfortable position. I, well you see…"
"I get it. Your uncle is pushing you to find a wife, and he wants you to go to this ball to find one. Right? Two weeks, so I guess it would make the ball on Christmas Eve?" His hands were warm. With him touching her, she felt safe. Safer than she'd been since being locked in the closet. Safer than anytime she could remember with a man.
"Yes." He peered down at their joined hands. "I know it's much to ask. But would you consider…" He glanced back up at her with the warmest brown eyes she'd ever seen. How could a man have such long eyelashes? Most women weren't so fortunate. Hers were only made longer by lengthening mascara.
Izzy sighed. "Okay." She owed him at least that for keeping her secret.