“What nonsense is this?” the duchess asked. “Who would send such a message? Do not tell me I have made an enemy somewhere and they dare tell it to me. My enemies are usually in the habit of staying very sensibly quiet lest they incur my wrath.”
The duchess paused and whispered, “Oh, no. I know who it is. Lady Rembly. She was so angry over Mr. Vance. Apparently, Miss Rightstone had some sort of fit and broke half the dishes after the guests left her ball. This is Vance’s fault.”
The duchess took the card. Her face registered some confusion. “It is addressed to you, Isabel.”
“To me?” Isabel asked, feeling as if a stone had settled in her stomach. “Why should Lady Rembly be angry with me?”
“I have no idea, but we’d best find it out,” the duchess said, opening the card.
The duchess read the card. “Hmm, very odd,” she said.
“What does it say?” Isabel asked, her voice no louder than a whisper.
“It is from Lord Lymington,” she said, handing over the note.
Lady Isabel—Your favorite flowers for courting. Lymington
“I do not understand,” Isabel said. “Marigold is sorrow and Lavender is distrust. Though, I have forgotten the meaning of columbine.”
“Folly,” the duchess said.
“Sorrow, distrust, and folly? Perhaps he did not take my counsel about his modes of conversation as well as I had thought. Perhaps he thought it over and was offended.”
“But he mentions courting,” the duchess said, “so let us not jump to a conclusion. Perhaps Lord Lymington did not understand the flowers’ meanings?”
Isabel looked at them. “Then you think he might have chosen this combination for its…beauty?”
“I hope not,” the duchess said staring at them.
A footman arrived to the drawing room doors and signaled to Carlson. Another arrangement had arrived.
This one was very lovely. An abundance of pink primroses. Pink for a new interest and primrose for consistency. Isabel hardly need inquire who sent them. It must be Harry Vance.
The duchess did not seem to guess it so easily. She opened the card and frowned. “Really, I do not like this at all. First, he loses my tiara, then he ruins my plans for Miss Rightstone, and now he shoots higher than he has a right to. Primroses. Pink. Oh, look at this, he writes—Constancy can be relied upon. What a notion. No, Mr. Vance, you flatter yourself; you are worthy of a candle’s flame and yet you aim for the sun.”
Isabel did not answer, though she had to admit the arrangement gave her a little thrill. A very wrong, not sensible, going nowhere, sort of thrill.
Not for the first time, she cursed the fates for having made him so well but put him in circumstances lacking in any real stability. If only, if only if only…
“If only I could drive him off,” the duchess said. “I must be careful though. There is too big a risk of gossip regarding Miss Rightstone’s disappointed hopes—that young lady is hardly discreet and there must be more than a few people who were told there was to be a match with Vance. My friendship with Lady Rembly is on shaky ground as it is.”
“I am sure nothing need be said,” Isabel said encouragingly.
“Yes, you are right, of course. Mr. Vance might send flowers all day long, but he will not get anywhere with it.”
That was the real shame, Isabel thought. That he could not get anywhere with it.
“We must chin up and go forward,” the duchess said. “I cannot think what on earth Lymington means by that monstrosity, but we will know more when we encounter him on the morrow.”
“At Lord Ryland’s mystery ball?” Isabel asked.
“Yes, it is a ridiculous sort of evening, but one must go. It is Lord Ryland, after all. Gracious, Anne does make a spectacle of herself on that night, year after year. I used to think her losing at the game was unfortunate for all the complaining she did about it. Now though, I am certain her winning is far worse. First the brooch, then came that absurd walking stick and now that she’s got hold of a cipher, she’s been sending letters in code. Do any of us know what they mean? No, we do not. She might have informed me that she was being held captive somewhere and I’m none the wiser.”
“Lady Featherstone told me there is a blade inside her walking stick,” Isabel said.
“Oh yes,” the duchess said acerbically. “If she ever gets into a knife fight, she is prepared.”
As if speaking the name Ryland had summoned one of that family from the ether, Carlson announced that Lady Ryland had come to call.
