She nodded, though the duchess frowned at him. He was perfectly happy to pretend he had not noticed the duchess frowning.
Harry went to the counter where a footman was handing them out, retrieved the lady’s card, and was back to the group in under a minute. Their conversation had moved on to Ryland’s ball and Harry prayed that Ryland would have enough sense not to mention his recent request. The duchess would not find favor in his maneuvering to have Lady Isabel at his table.
He held Lady Isabel’s card up and said, “May I?”
“Yes, of course, Mr. Vance,” she said.
As he could not take supper, though how he would have wished to take supper, he put himself down for the first. The duchess could frown and fuss with her monstrous tiara all she liked about it.
*
Isabel had beenso determined to like Mr. Vance less and like Lord Lymington more. Why did it seem near impossible to do?
The moment she’d seen him her breath had nearly caught. Good grief, he almost took her breath away.
How could he not have, though? He was attired so elegantly in his dress clothes, his coat outlining his broad frame and his neckcloth tied in a subtle and unstudied manner. His face was so handsome—those eyes, the shade of blue found at the deepest part of a clear lake.
And then, what seemed to beinsidethe clothes. He was powerfully built, as she could very well see from the width of his sleeves.
Isabel felt flushed and she could not decide if it were his striking person, or embarrassment that the duchess was so cool with him and apparently not intending on thanking him for the return of her tiara.
She admitted to herself that he, his presence, was the cause. He’d been chivalrous in setting off after the duchess’ tiara and she thought that just now he might have been waiting for her nearby where she would collect her card. She could not know it, of course, but she felt it. He had, after all, waited for a lull in the conversation and then offered to retrieve her card for her. Then, she also knew that he would put his name down on it, as he’d bargained with the duchess to do so.
He was very much the man of action.
Mr. Vance had taken the first, and then bowed and moved on under the duchess’ glare.
Isabel reminded herself of her plans. Her well thought-out and considered plans. He was a fine man, of course. But her future was at stake and she could not throw it away over what was certainly only a girlish infatuation.
Had she not once imagined herself desperately in love with Miss Cremerdon’s older brother? Had she not made a cake of herself a dozen times in his presence—adoring his dark looks and brooding manner? She had been just fourteen and his gloomy mien had seemed the height of romance.
Of course, she eventually fell out of whatever nonsensical feelings she’d had as she got to be better acquainted with him. She had been won over by his looks and his air of mystery, but he turned out to be only a sullen and morose sixteen-year-old.
Mr. Vance was likely just the same, though there was nothing of the sullen and morose in him. She had only been bowled over by his looks and she must un-bowl herself this instant.
She’d nearly convinced herself of it when she’d been approached by Lord Lymington. He always seemed to look rumpled, even when well-dressed. He launched into some story about a horse until the duchess cut him off.
“Lady Isabel’s supper is still free, Lord Lymington, but do not dally as it will not long remain so,” she’d said.
Lymington had taken the hint. Or, the order, as it more sounded. He’d attempted to return to his story, but the duchess cut him off again by saying, “Save that delightful tale for supper, my lord.”
The duchess had then taken her arm and guided her firmly away from the gentleman.
He really did not compare well to Mr. Vance. But then, somebody else might. Lord Lymington would not be the only eligible gentleman in town. Perhaps she would meet a man not quite as elevated as a duke’s eldest son, but more attractive while remaining a sound choice.
Her card had been filled and all the gentlemen on it seemed genial. But they did not measure up to Mr. Vance. Surely somebody would, though? Surely?
Now, Mr. Vance had come to collect her. The moment had come, she would touch him.
He led her with confidence and experience. She could feel the strength of his forearm as she laid her hand on it. It was as hard as a stone. Of course it was. And Lord Lymington, if his looks were anything to go by, would have forearms of jelly.
“I find I must do the duty of thanking you for retrieving the duchess’ tiara, as she has not had the opportunity to do so herself,” Isabel said, hoping that would go some way toward excusing the lady’s very deliberate oversight.
Mr. Vance smiled and said, “Very well composed, Lady Isabel. Though I am not particularly fooled. The duchess would find being in debt to me on any matter an impossible idea.”
“Is that why you did not come into the drawing room to deliver it yourself?” she asked.
“Not quite,” Mr. Vance said. “It was not that I was opposed to putting the duchess in an uncomfortable position. I would have been amused by it, as I think she is so rarely made uncomfortable. But I thought I’d rather not force you to sit through such an awkward play.”
