“Thank you, Lady Isolde. That is kind. Amelia will be grateful, and so will I.”
“It is nothing,” she replied tersely, averting his gaze. “Pray, follow me, and I shall guide you to its location. You are indeed fortunate– I just returned the book in question myself.”
Twenty minutes later, Isolde and Viscount Henley sat side by side on a padded window seat, a tea tray set on a low table in front of them.
He held Pride and Prejudice in his hands, turning over the pages slowly. There were a small stack of other books beside him, mostly recommendations from Isolde.
“I was surprised to see you so keen to read Mysteries of Udolpho,” Isolde said, mostly to break the silence rather thananything else. “I did not know you liked Mrs. Radcliffe’s works.”
“How could I not? They’re thrillingly shocking. I might take out a subscription to this library myself, as well as for Amelia. I would like to procure a subscription for my stepmother, too, but he’d never…”
The sentence ended as sharply as if the viscount had bit his tongue. He did not look at Isolde, and she carefully avoided his eye.
It was common knowledge that the Earl of Wrenwood was a vile man, and a bad husband. People studiously avoided talking about his second wife, and the life she may or may not have led. And, by extension, his children.
The viscount included.
“I’m surprised they don’t already have a subscription,” Isolde remarked, picking up her cup of tea. “It’s a little controversial, but ladies who enjoy reading…”
“My father disapproves,” he said tightly, not meeting her eye. “If my father disapproves of something – well. I’m not sure if you can understand, Lady Isolde. Your father seems like a decent man.”
She bit her lip. “Yes, he is a good man. I think… I think perhaps I don’t appreciate my parents as much as I should.”
Another faux pas. She should betray nothing about herself, certainly not any sort of ingratitude towards her parents. But then, Viscount Henley’s expression right now was pinched and grim. Angry, even. Whatever feelings he had towards his father, the notorious Earl of Wrenwood, they were not good. Not filial in the slightest.
She cleared her throat, smoothing out her skirts. A nervous gesture, but it was too late to hide it now.
“Well, I hope your sister enjoys her subscription, and Pride and Prejudice. It’s a remarkable novel.”
“I can imagine. Sense and Sensibility was remarkable. Ihope this author writes many more novels. I should have bought Amelia a copy of the book to keep, but Father is so… he doesn’t like books cluttering up the house. A borrowed book might be less objectionable.”
Isolde had not met the Earl of Wrenwood in person, but she was beginning to feel she might not like him at all. He sounded insufferable.
“Once again, your literary tastes shock me.”
He leaned back on his elbows, a rather blasé pose to take in a refined salon like this, but Isolde found that she did not mind. Her feet, which did not quite touch the floor, crossed at the ankles.
“I like shocking you, Lady Isolde,” the viscount said, a smile hovering around his lips again. “But I fear only a blind fool would not see the merits in our mysterious Lady Author.”
“You should attend Lady Maria Bell’s literary salon,” Isolde found herself saying, to her own horror. “We’re discussing this Lady at our next meeting. It is open to just about anyone, so long as a current member vouches for them.”
The viscount glanced sharply at her. For a heartbeat, there was silence, and Isolde bit back a scream.
What am I doing? What am I saying? Why am I inviting him anywhere? What if he misbehaves? Maria will be frankly furious.
“Are you saying you will vouch for me?” he said, at long last.
Too late to back out now. Isolde shrugged – a deeply ladylike motion, but it wasn’t as if she intended to impress the wretched man – and gave a casual “If you like, of course,”.
He eyed her for another long moment. To her horror, her skin prickled, as if someone was drawing a feather over her arms.
“That’s very kind of you,” the viscount said after a pause, “but I don’t wish to intrude where I don’t belong. I’m sure your salon friends would not like to see me.”
It was an easy way out. Isolde could demur modestly, and he would insist on staying away, and the matter would be ended. Her foolish invite would be forgotten. Heaven only knew what the gossip columns would say to that.
Instead, Isolde said something else entirely.
“The literary salon is open to whoever has opinions to share and a love of books,” she said. “Maria was tired of being excluded from salons due to her gender, and she was determined that nobody else would be so excluded. If you wish to come, and learn more about our Anonymous Lady, you are more than welcome to do so. Even rakes are allowed to like novels, you know.”
