Isabel had seenclearly enough that Mr. Vance was holding in his laughter. She could not entirely blame him, Lord Lymington did sometimes say the most confounding things. There were times when the most obvious thing in the world seemed to strike him as a new and novel idea.
Well, she supposed it was fortunate that if Lord Lymingtondidever have such an unfortunate moment as to contemplate killing himself, he had made the firm decision to at least pause to think it over.
After both gentlemen had moved off, the duchess said, “I am finding this evening getting off to a very irritating start.”
“Because Mr. Vance has put himself down for my supper,” Isabel said.
“Yes, that is certainly one of the things I do not like. He is very bold and I do not care for it. I think sometimes he is secretly laughing at me, which Ireallycannot countenance. If people take to laughing at those superior to them, where will we be?”
Isabel did notspeculate on where they would be, as she rather thought they were already there. Deriding those located up the chain seemed to be a favored English sport. It was only that Mr. Vance did not particularly hide his amusement.
“If there is any comfort to be had,” the duchess went on, “I can assure myself that Mr. Vance’s stratagems will get him nowhere. You have far too much good sense to be swayed by his smarmy manners and mien of savoir faire. The facts belie his veneer of polish. He cannot dodge his tradesman grandfather or his lack of connections.”
Isabel had not answered that opinion, but the duchess was right. Mr. Vance might be the handsomest man in the room, he might be entertaining, he might have some sort of undefinable and undeniable pull on her. None of that changed the facts of him.
“As if Mr. Vance were not maddening enough,” the duchess said, “I should at least be able to count on my friends not to represent themselves as a collection of lunatics,” the duchess went on, narrowing her eyes at Lady Featherstone.
Isabel could not possibly answer that. To agree would be to insult the lady’s friends and to disagree would be to insult the lady herself.
“Lady Featherstone is in trousers, and it shall be the talk of every drawing room on the morrow. Of course, she is already known as an eccentric. But eccentricity is not the same as madness! The lady has lost her faculties.”
Isabel glanced over at the lady in question. It was true, she was drawing an unusual amount of looks.
“And then Lady Redfield,” the duchess went on, “staggering about like a sailor searching for his sea legs. How long will it be before she hits the floor? What was Lord Jeffries thinking to suggest it?”
Isabel could not imagine what Lord Jeffries had been thinking as he did not look all that steady in his own wooden shoes.
“And the icing on the cake is Louisa. Oh, at first glance there seems nothing amiss. But then one notices the doll. Apparently, her costume is meant to be some sort of Madonna. What is she to do with that baby at a card table? Or at supper? Throw it under her chair?”
“I suppose designing a costume every year can prove challenging,” Isabel said vaguely and for lack of anything else to say.
“Not for anybody with sense,” the duchess said. “Well, at least you look lovely. Despite the setbacks, let us attempt to enjoy the evening.”
And so, the duchess’ account of her friends ended on that happy note.
Isabel’s dance withLord Lymington was by turns strange and illuminating. He kicked off the conversation with some new ideas about the weather and whales that he was planning to discuss with Carlson.
Could it be that when they spouted, the force of it pierced the clouds and set the weather in a new direction?
Isabel had replied that, of course, anything was possible. Though really, she did not thinkthatwas particularly possible.
Then the lord had seemed dejected and explained that if he were correct about the whales, what in the world were the dolphins doing?
“Perhaps you might expand your topics of conversation, Lord Lymington,” she said, hinting that he should not only speak of weather, whales, and dolphins. Or never speak of them, which would be preferable.
The lord did not seem to know where to go with the hint.
Isabel said, “Perhaps you might read a book?”
“Isthere a book on weather?” Lord Lymington asked. “Carlson has not mentioned any.”
Isabel was rather afraid that Carlson had created a bigger problem than the one she’d attempted to solve. Lord Lymington’s penchant for talking about his horses had been a little tedious, but it had not been as strange as his new interest in whales and dolphins.
“No, I mean a book about some new topic, like geography, or philosophy.”
Before Lord Lymington could express any feelings on the matter, they were suddenly bumped into rather hard. Isabel did not fall, but she did stumble. Lord Lymington had teetered back and forth, and it looked as if he might go over, but he thankfully regained his balance.
Isabel turned to discover what had happened and could not quite believe what she was looking at. Like a set of dominoes, people were going down across the floor. One person hit the next, who hit the next.
