“And you enjoy the Lady Author we discussed?” Viola pressed. “The author of Pride and Prejudice?”
“Very much so. Why do you ask?”
She sighed. “Some gentlemen have said they are women’s books, and therefore beneath the notice of men.”
“Goodness,” the viscount remarked, taking a sip of tea. “What a narrow world they must live in, then.”
Viola’s expression brightened. It was exactly the right thing to say.
“Yes, I agree! In fact, I was saying just the other day – Isolde, do you remember? – that if gentlemen would only…”
She trailed off, staring at something out of the window, and Isolde followed her gaze.
At first, all she saw was a wet street, pavements glistening grey, and a few huddled-over people hurrying about their business.
And then she saw the man, standing across the road, glaring balefully at them.
Her heart sank.
“Wretched Lord Raisin,” she murmured.
The viscount’s eyebrows flew up. “I beg your pardon? Whatdid you say? Are there raisins…”
She shook her head, returning her attention to her ice and tea.
“He’s coming over,” Viola said, sighing.
“Forgive me,” Isolde said, flashing a nervous smile. “I… I think an acquaintance might have spotted me. I tried to pretend I hadn’t seen him – shocking, I know – but I believe he’s coming over anyway.”
The viscount leaned back in his chair, lips pursed. “That would be terribly rude of him.”
Isolde sighed. “Yes, I know.”
The door opened abruptly, bell tinkling, and she heard sharp voices as Lord Raisin pushed past the waiter. He came stamping over to stand behind the table.
Slowly, everybody tilted their head to look up at him.
“When I sent you a note this morning,” Lord Raisin snapped, not bothering to introduce himself to anyone, “You informed me that you were busy.”
Isolde clenched her jaw. “I am busy. I had plans to attend the library with my friend, and then Viscount Henley was good enough to invite us for ices.”
“You might have said as much. I would have joined you. I could have taken you for ices, if you had a fancy for it.”
She swallowed hard. People were looking at them, attracted by the sound of Lord Raisin’s raised voice and the steady drip-drip of his wet clothes on the clean, dry floor.
“I was not aware I had to provide an itinerary of my day to you, Lord Raisin.”
The viscount got smoothly to his feet, and extended a hand.
“Lord Raisin,” he said, smiling calmly. “What a pleasure. Care to join us? I think perhaps the staff will insist upon you removing your wet cloak, but I’m sure a chair can be added.”
Lord Raisin sneered. “What, and have you buy me ices, too?”
“If you like,” the viscount responded, seeming to be oblivious to Lord Raisin’s sarcasm. “Shall I summon a waiter?”
“No, thank you,” Lord Raison snapped, and turned to face Isolde again. “If you are finished here, I’ll escort you home. I’m sure that the dear Duchess is waiting for your return.”
Now everybody was looking. The waiters had given up all pretence of serving others, and were watching, faces agog. People at the neighbouring tables were frozen, clearly straining their ears to hear, and others further off craned their necks.
