Dash it.Thatwas why she might consider Lymington. She had not just a garden variety interest in becoming a duchess. She had a drive created by circumstances that he suspected had been harrowing. She would not speak so plainly were it not the case.
“Perhaps, though,” he said slowly, “it might not be fair to the gentleman, were you only to marry for an unassailable position.”
“It would be very fair, as I would never deceive anybody regarding my feelings.”
That was bold. He’d not considered that a lady determined on securing a lofty title might just come out and say so. Unfortunately, thatwasrather fair. And Lymington might just be stupid enough to be led into it.
“Mr. Vance,” the duchess called, “do come and partner with Miss Rightstone for piquet. Lord Lymington tells me it is not his game, and so he can turn the pages for Lady Isabel.”
Blast. He’d far rather stay where he was and speak more to Lady Isabel.
Even worse, Miss Rightstone’s game of piquet was downright painful. If he lost a trick, her fan would strike, if he won a trick, her fan would strike harder.
He was to leave the duchess’ house a battered man.
Still, after all these many seasons, he might just have mether.
*
Betsy had kindlybrought Isabel a tea tray in the morning. Though she had always gone down to breakfast all her life, at least whatever breakfast could be scared up, the duchess thought that would not be convenient in her house. She did not go down herself and the duke generally only had coffee before retreating to his library.
This breakfast was very unlike what she had been used to. There were fried eggs, bacon, a sausage, toasted bread, butter, strawberry jam, and a pot of tea. It was glorious.
As she worked her way through the plate, she considered the evening before.
She knew she could not change one iota of reality for wishing, though how she wished she could! How she wished her initial assumption that Mr. Vance had in fact been Lord Lymington had been true.
Isabel had never been a particularly indulgent person, she considered herself to have a disciplined mind. But Mr. Vance was proving a challenge.
It had been so hard not to look at him last evening. When he’d come to turn her pages at the pianoforte, it had been so difficult to ignore how close his broad-shouldered person was to her. He told her he thought she was wonderful and her heart had skipped a beat. She had an overwhelming urge to touch his hand, to see if it were warm. She’d done no such thing, but she could not help thinking about it.
It was hard not to picture him in her mind now.
If she were to go by her feelings alone, she would have spent all her time with Mr. Vance and Lord Lymington could ride off on his horse who threw shoes with nary a backward glance.
That, though, she could not do. If she indulged her feelings and inclinations now, she might find sometime in future that she deeply regretted it. After all, Mr. Vance’s grandfather had not been a gentleman until he was made one by the crown. It was doubtful his estate was large, he was too recent to have any deep connections in society, and he did not have powerful relatives. He had no net. If things were to go wrong, there would be nobody to catch him.
Her father, as poorly as he managed things, had been bailed out several times by relatives and likely would be again. Even their neighbor, Lord Bertridge, had offered to lend her father money and help him execute a plan to restore the estate. That was the advantage of being an earl from an old family with blood relatives far and wide. That was what Mr. Vance did not have.
Isabel would not mind becoming a baroness under the right circumstances, but shewouldmind becoming a baroness standing on unsteady ground.
She wished for solidity. For surety. For a very large and sturdy net. She had all but said so to Mr. Vance last night at the pianoforte.
She must find a way to like Mr. Vance less and like Lord Lymington more.
Suddenly, she laid her toast down and said, “Oh dear, I am a goose.”
Betsy, who had been organizing a pile of gloves, said, “What have you done, Lady Isabel? I’ll fix it, whatever it is.”
“Oh no, Betsy, I am afraid you cannot fix this. I have spent the past half hour thinking about the unsuitability of a certain gentleman and how I ought to drive him off.”
“That doesn’t sound very goose-like to me,” Betsy said.
“Yes, well, I am afraid it is. The gentleman I was considering drivingawayhas not made particular intentions known that he planned on drivinginother than a pretty compliment he’s probably handed out many times. It is all too likely he does not have the faintest of interests.”
“I do not see why he wouldn’t,” Betsy said.
“He is very handsome and seems exceedingly genial. I suspect he is very popular in London.”
