“Mr. Vance is correct—Lady Isabel has solved it,” Lord Ryland announced loudly.
As Lord Ryland explained to his guests that it was the housekeeper and how and why she did it, Isabel felt her cheeks grow hot. She did not solve it and did not wish to take the credit for it. However, the situation had become like a stone rolling downhill. There was no way to make it go uphill again.
There was a round of applause for the solution and Isabel glanced around. Lady Featherstone appeared in disbelief. Isabel could not precisely read the duchess’ emotions—proud of her charge? Delighted that Lady Featherstone had broken her winning record? Something like that.
A footman carried a silk-covered pillow with a small velvet box atop it to Lord Ryland. He took the box and opened its hinges, revealing a stunning blue topaz ring surrounded by two rows of chip diamonds.
It was dazzling.
“Lady Isabel,” Lord Ryland said. “You have won this topaz ring once belonging to the House of Hapsburg. It has lived its life on royal fingers, and so it is fitting that its next owner arises from the House of Plantagenet.”
Lord Ryland had removed the ring from the box and held it out, intending to put it on her finger. There was not much she could do at this point, so she held her right hand forward.
Slipping it on, Isabel felt the magnificence of it. She’d never owned any sort of jewelry of value—her mother’s jewels had been sold long ago.
Though it was a thing of beauty, she was also not unaware of its presumed monetary value. If the worst came and her father was on the verge of losing the estate, she would sell it.
Mr. Vance whispered, “And so I have managed to give you a ring. Though it be on the wrong hand.”
Isabel stared at him. Mr. Vance only laughed and said, “Itiswar, you know.”
*
Harry had whistledall the way home, trotting through the dark streets. Ryland’s ball could hardly have gone better. He’d won Lady Isabel a ring and had made several points about his reliability that must have made some inroads.
He’d been so bold as to point out that he’d given her a ring, though she wore it on the wrong hand.
She liked him, he was sure of it. And tonight, it appeared as if Lord Lymington was being taken out of the running. Miss Thompson had very helpfully engaged the man throughout the supper. No utterance of his was to go by without Miss Thompson remarking on how interesting, or kind, or insightful it was.
Lymington was certainly an original, though Harry had to admit that his talk about the weather was a vast improvement over his horse stories. At least the farfetched theories about whales, dolphins, and crows were entertaining.
As Smith took his coat, his valet said, “Well, what now? Have you got the lady in your pocket?”
“Lady Isabel will never be in anybody’s pocket,” Harry said, “but I have made progress.”
“What next then?” Smith asked.
Harry thought for a moment. Hehadmade progress, he knew it. But was he to go along like this, wondering when the next Lymington would turn up? For that matter, Miss Thompson may have made a great fuss over the man during one evening, but Lymington was so dense he might not even see it, much less pursue it. After all, it had been Harry, himself, that had put into his head that he might court Lady Isabel.
“I have asked her in hints and innuendos,” Harry said, “now I must ask her directly. Formally.”
“Will she go along with it though?” Smith asked, not appearing entirely convinced about the idea.
“I think she might,” Harry said. “She just might.”
“Right then, how will you set the stage?”
Set the stage? He’d not got so far in his thinking as to imagine setting the stage.
“The Tredwells’ masque,” Smith said. “It is in two days’ time. You can disguise yourself as some romantic hero or other.”
It was not a bad idea. In a costume, it would be far easier to approach Lady Isabel before the duchess even discovered who he was.
“Very well,” Harry said. “Secure me a romantic hero costume. But, make it areliablehero. Do not make me a Romeo, who cannot even be counted on to confirm whether his lady is dead or not.”
“No Romeo,” Smith said nodding.
“And make me something warrior-like. A romantic soldier, if you like.”
