It really was something to behold. It was not precisely to Isabel’s taste, as she would have preferred a silver or platinum setting, and perhaps a much more delicate composition. Isabel was not quite sure of its weight, but it looked exceedingly heavy. She hoped the duchess did not get a headache from it.
Isabel glanced down at her dress, which she far more adored. She could hardly keep her eyes from it. Madame LeGrange had brought over three more gowns that afternoon and Isabel had chosen a divine midnight blue silk. The material was the very best and the cut was refined—it was not ruined with overdecoration. It was the sort of dress she had conjured in her imagination during those days of endlessly mending her very worn muslins.
“Now, my dear,” the duchess said, “have you formed an opinion on Lord Lymington?”
“An opinion?” Isabel said, taken off guard by the question.
“Oh, I know you do not know him well enough at this point to absolutely decide, but what do you think? He is to be a duke, after all. You could begin your adult life as a marchioness and end as a duchess. Old family, high rank, secure as England itself.”
“That, of course, is precisely what I would wish,” Isabel said slowly.
Sensing her hesitation, the duchess said, “I realize he talks about horses far too much, but those sorts of things can be managed satisfactorily.”
“Can they?” Isabel asked. She had assured herself the night before that it must be so. But then she’d also pondered how one would manage it. She’d never been able to affect her father’s habits one iota.
“I’ll tell you a secret,” the duchess said confidentially. “There were a few things that needed correcting when I wed the duke. Most unfortunately, he had an unnatural taste for Indian spices and his cook made things to his taste. My mouth was on fire for a month before I remedied that problem.”
“And now he no longer favors those spices?” Isabel asked.
“Oh no, he likes them just as much as ever. However, he mostly just seasons his own plate these days so the rest of us do not go up in flames. Goodness, the man even puts pepper sauce on his eggs in the morning.”
“How did you accomplish the change?” Isabel asked.
“Straightforward,” the duchess said, “that’s always the way to go. I said—‘Duke, you are coming close to watching my hair go up in a blaze with all these curries.’ He understood me perfectly and Cook was promptly informed of the new arrangements.”
Isabel was surprised that the duke’s habits were modified with so little fuss.
“You might have noticed Carlson bringing the duke a tray with an array of porcelain containers. I really do not know what exactly is in them other than they are dreadful. If it’s some particular dish he wants, Cook makes it separately. It was worked out satisfactorily for both of us.”
What if Lord Lymington could be taught to make better conversation? She would still be left with his looks, which she was not attracted to at all. But how much did that matter, really? Looks faded. Security did not. As well, a pleasant conversationalist might make up for a whole host of other deficiencies.
“Do you think I should be so forward, though?” Isabel asked. “It would be bold to correct the lord on any matter when we are so recently acquainted.”
“I do not say you come at it without thought. Do some gentle fishing and then if he seems amenable, tell him of your requirements.” The duchess sighed. “Goodness knows,somebodyis due to tell Lord Lymington that nobody cares about his horses!”
“Perhaps I will mention it,” Isabel said, “if the right opportunity presents itself.”
“Yes, do, my dear.” The duchess heaved a heavy sigh. “That is, I am afraid, the least of the problems presented to me today.”
“Does something else trouble you, Duchess?” Isabel asked warily, hoping it was not anything regarding the tiara and how it must be Mr. Vance’s fault.
“It is not something, it issomeone. Mr. Vance.”
Oh dear. The duchess had thoroughly convinced herself that Mr. Vance was responsible for her stolen tiara, though he was the only reason she’d got it back.
“Mr. Vance has positively refused to see that a marriage to Miss Rightstone would be to advantage. Yesterday, he looked me straight in the eye and said he was happy to do me favors when asked, but a wedding was entirely too far.”
Isabel did not say anything. Her thoughts were far too busy to speak. It was nothing to do with the tiara. She was angry at him for failing to see the sense of wedding Miss Rightstone.
“He even had the nerve to decline the invitation to Lady Rembly’s ball.”
Isabel felt her spirits drop just the littlest bit to hear it.
“Naturally, I went to his house and demanded he come and take Miss Rightstone into supper.”
Isabel had no notion she’d made such a visit. Or that a duchess could interfere with a gentleman’s decisions on where he preferred to go. “So he comes after all?”
“Oh yes, he comes, though he had the temerity to demand that he be allowed to request a dance fromyou! Well, I said he could ask but it was entirely your decision. I also told him, in no uncertain terms, that you were destined for something far greater than newcomer Mr. Vance!”
