Isabel closed the book and reflected on her own far more sensible goings-on. She felt she must be satisfied by the events occurring at the Remblys’ ball. She had once and for all put any thought of Mr. Vance to rest—he was far too dangerous a choice. As for Lord Lymington, could he be made into something? Perhaps so. He certainly was willing and that must be seen as encouraging.
Her commonsense mind was in no doubt as to how matters stood. Her heart, though, was taking its time catching up. Her heart beat faster for Mr. Vance and there was nothing she could do about it. However, she was confident that her heart would see sense in its own time. She was no Annabelle, walking into danger without a lick of sense.
The duchess came into the drawing room and said, “There you are. Well, I’ve slept half the day away. Last evening was exhausting.”
Isabel did not know why it should have been, as the duchess had spent most of the night in the card room.
“How did you get on with Lord Lymington?” the duchess asked.
“I spoke to him about his lack of conversation and he made an effort to converse on subjects other than his horses,” Isabel said. “He was very willing to try, anyway.”
“That is promising,” the duchess said. “I cannot say anything about Miss Rightstone’s prospects are going so well. Mr. Vance, on top of losing me my tiara, saw fit to inform Miss Rightstone that there was to be no match.”
Isabel was rather fascinated by how the duchess’ mind worked. Despite Mr. Vance having rescued her tiara, he was now firmly the cause of its disappearance.
She was determined not to think about the idea that he’d made clear he was not interested in Miss Rightstone. Who he preferred or did not prefer had nothing to do with her.
“He is infuriating,” the duchess went on, “why did he not have the courtesy to give me time to dig up somebody else and gently steer Miss Rightstone and her mother in another direction?”
“Canyou find somebody else?” Isabel asked. If the lady was indeed in her sixth season, it would seem that she must know everybody by now.
The duchess frowned. “That is indeed the problem. I am not a sorceress, after all. Oh, how I would like to strike out at Mr. Vance. How I would like to send letters flying out of the house and ordering everyone I know to cut him. I do not believe he is the slightest afraid of me and I do not like it.”
“Can you do that? Make everybody cut him?” Isabel asked, thinking the idea rather awful.
“I could, but I will not. I must not draw any attention to Miss Rightstone’s plight. If only the girl would…well, if she would only stop being so…her. She is comely and a viscount’s daughter, coming with a sizable dowry. That ought to do it, if she would only…put her fan down and be quiet. Well, I do not know how we are to get her married.”
Miss Rightstone’s plight sounded more terrifying by the day. She could not allow such a thing to happen to her.
Of course, such a thing would never happen to her. The duchess would not bring her back season after season. If she did not make something of herself this season, she would likely find herself back in her father’s house.
Carlson entered the drawing room with a tea tray. “Carlson,” the duchess said, “what will we have for weather in the park?”
The butler laid down the tray, surreptitiously glancing out the window. “I believe, Your Grace, you shall have what is known as apuffing easterly. A mild temperature and gentle breeze.”
“Excellent, that will be just the thing,” the duchess said, appearing very sanguine over her butler’s predictions.
“Naturally, Your Grace,” Carlson hurriedly put in, “we must just hope that the pods of dolphins off the coast of Brighton do not become too energetic, thereby creating a disturbance.”
The duchess nodded knowingly. She said to Isabel, “The average person has no idea how much trouble the dolphins can stir up.”
Isabel dabbed her napkin against her lips to stop herself from laughing. Could dolphins affect the weather? It did not seem likely.
She did not know much about predicting the weather herself, other than watching clouds gather and assuming it would rain. However, Betsy had told her that Carlson attempting to foresee future conditions was like a man stumbling round in the pitch dark with his hands waving in front of him.
“Carlson, have the horses brought round in an hour. That will allow us to finish our tea and change to our habits.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
*
Harry was stillabed at three and had a tray sent up with a large pot of coffee. As Smith bustled round the room, brushing off a coat here and gathering things to be laundered there, Harry said, “I managed to unburden myself and burden myself, all in one night.”
“Dare I inquire into the actual facts?” Smith asked.
“I spoke very directly to Miss Rightstone. She is under no further illusion that she will one day wake beside me.”
Smith shivered. “What a notion. It would be akin to waking up next to Medusa each morning, you’d die all over again.”
