“None of that signifies anything,” she asserted. “The viscount is quite the gallant. A notorious libertine, as we are all aware.”
“This situation is indeed distinct, Isolde. I urge you to contemplate it earnestly. I understand your aversion to the idea of marrying Lord Raisin—indeed, I share your sentiments. However, a gentleman of the viscount's calibre… well, that would constitute an entirely different proposition, would it not? He is undeniably handsome, and possesses such charm.”
A lump had formed in Isolde’s throat.
I wonder if my mother thought that my father was handsome and charming. Perhaps he bought her an ice or two and smiled benignly across a table. Perhaps, when her heart skipped a beat at the sight of him or her breath caught in her throat, he noticed, and smiled.
Maybe she felt as if she were drowning, like I am. Drowning, but in a good way.
Perhaps she thought he felt the same. No, she must have been sure of it. And yet…
“I would never lose my heart to a man like the viscount,” she said shortly.
Viola frowned. “Isolde, I didn’t mean…”
“No, let me finish, please. Women are ruined by men like him.”
“That’s a harsh accusation.”
“Is it? Is it not the case that my name has been thoroughly besmirched on account of his actions? Have I not been rendered a subject of ridicule? Offer him but a modicum of indulgence, and he shall seize upon it with a voracity that knows no bounds. Pray consider how much more grievous my situation would be had I entertained his insipid flirtations. No, Viola, I would sooner meet my demise than consent to wed a man of his ilk.”
Viola nibbled her lower lip, looking worried. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
She sighed. “You didn’t upset me, my dear friend. But I don’t want to talk about this again, if you don’t mind. Not ever.”
Chapter Eighteen
Vauxhall Gardens, as everybody knew, only came alive at night.
Even from a distance, Isolde could see the lights and hear the noise. Aside from countless torches, braziers, and lanterns marking out the paths, there were endless strings of tiny candles hanging above their heads, covered by coloured glass jars. The effect was like hundreds – no, thousands – of fireflies hovering above them, filling the world with light.
The breeze blew into Isolde’s face, carrying the scent of pies, sweets, marzipan, and other sweet and savoury delights, all waiting for them in the food stalls of Vauxhall Gardens. There were special pavilions there too, sheltered and waited on by diligent attendants, where gentlemen and ladies could sit and eat full meals out in the open.
If they had coin to pay for it, of course.
Their boat inched further down the river, heading towards the piers set out for that very purpose. There were dozens of other boats, and she could see shadowy shapes moving along the riverbank – the common folk loved Vauxhall gardens, too.
“Quite a sight, is it not?” Lord Raisin said, right in her ear, and Isolde stiffened.
She’d taken a seat in the prow of the boat, in hopes of avoiding conversation with the man, but Lord Raisin had never been one to take a hint.
“Yes, very exciting,” she said, as coldly as she dared. Beatrice had made it clear that there would be no last-minute megrims saving Isolde from their outing. Duty, she’d called it.
Frankly, Isolde didn’t think that Vauxhall Gardens should ever be reduced to a painful, boring duty, but here she was.Despite herself, however, there was a twinge of excitement. Vauxhall was like fairyland, when it was at its best.
The boat slid alongside the pier, and Lord Raisin bounced out first, keen to hand everybody out onto dry land. Isolde was obliged to accept his help, and noticed with resignation that he hung onto her gloved hand for much longer than he should.
James, climbing out of the boat behind her, did not take Lord Raisin’s hand. To Isolde’s relief, he slipped his arm through hers before the other man could claim her.
“I shall take a turn with my sister for a while,” he announced to no one in particular, and Isolde just had time to take in the expression of dismay on Lord Raisin’s face, before James turned her towards the glittering lights of Vauxhall and began to walk ahead of the others.
“Allow me to hazard a guess,” Isolde remarked softly, once they had put a modest distance between themselves and the other three, “Mama instructed you to engage in conversation with me.”
James gave a sigh. “You could do worse than Lord Raisin.”
“I could also do a great deal better.”
“He’s a placid enough man. You could manage him easily, I should think.”
