“Yes, of course,” Isabel said.
She folded her embroidery and put it back in her sewing basket. It was not too long a time before Lord Lymington was shown in, followed by Betsy. The lord held out a pot of Columbine and said, “I remembered! One of your favorites. Actually, my butler wrote down what I sent before, andheremembered.”
Carlson went off to arrange tea while Betsy sat herself discreetly on the far sofa.
Isabel said, “Lord Lymington, I am afraid Mr. Vance was playing a joke on you regarding the flowers.”
“Really? What’s the joke?”
“Regarding the meanings of the flowers he suggested to you,” Isabel said gently. “Columbine represents folly.”
“Does it?” Lord Lymington said. “I’ve never paid much attention to such things. Sothat’swhy my butler kept saying, ‘Columbine again? Are you certain?’”
“You might borrow a book on the subject from the duchess,” Isabel said encouragingly. “Then you would know what messages you were sending.”
“Excellent idea. I have books, you understand. It’s just there all…”
“About horses?”
“Yes!” Lord Lymington paused, as if he were mulling something over. “Vance. He steered me very wrong about flowers. What about the poem, though?”
Isabel was not certain what the lord alluded to. “The poem?” she asked.
“The poem Vance helped me write. Actually, he wrote it, I didn’t know where to start. He said it was necessary so a lady could keep it and reflect on it and so I signed it and sent it.”
“I am afraid I did not receive it,” Isabel said, confounded as to why Mr. Vance would have helped Lord Lymington write a poem.
“No matter, I can tell you the gist—I said you were nice and had red hair. Then I compared you to a well-fed pheasant, because of hearths, you know. And then I ended with something about a gentle diet for a bird.”
Isabel could not make heads nor tails of this mishmash of words. Until suddenly she could. Among Mr. Vance’s other enterprising strategies, he’d written out a ludicrous ode and convinced Lord Lymington to send it. Isabel suspected the duchess had opened it and then promptly set it alight.
“I am afraid Mr. Vance may have played another joke on you regarding that poem. As you describe it.”
“It’s the well-fed pheasant part, isn’t it?” Lord Lymington said, looking rather dejected. “I thought that couldn’t be right. I really ought to follow my own instincts more often.”
“If your instincts lead you away from such ideas, then I heartily agree.”
“I’d have a word with Vance about this. If I could.”
“Oh, I do not think it necessary to mention anything to him,” Isabel said.
“I could not anyway. But next season! If I remember. Or my butler remembers.”
Isabel was not certain of his meaning. If he was determined to say something, why would he wait until next season?
“Funny thing about Vance,” Lord Lymington said. “I was at White’s last night and they say he’s disappeared along with his valet.”
“Disappeared?” Isabel said. “What does that mean?”
“Well, Crandall saw him leaving town at dawn, on horseback with only his valet. Crandall was on his way home you see, long night of gambling. He hailed Vance and asked him if he was off to Cornwall. That’s where his estate is, you understand. But Vance says no, and Crandall says where then? Vance says he doesn’t want anybody to know where he is going. Is that not odd? Why the secret? You see? He accepted invitations and then did not turn up and his trip is a secret.”
Isabel gripped the arm of the sofa; her head was spinning and she felt a little sick. Where had he gone? And worse, wherever he’d gone, she was afraid she was the cause.
“I suppose a gentleman might choose a hundred different places to go at the spur of the moment,” she said, though she did not think she sounded very convincing.
“Oh, yes,” Lord Lymington said, nodding. “But why is it a secret? Rendridge speculated that he was off to Gretna Green but then he could not come up with the name of the lady meant to have gone with him. James said it was likely a tryst with an actress—well never mind whatelsehe said about that idea. Barclay said he might have gambled too high and got himself in trouble. But I’ve never seen Vance gamble, so I don’t know…”
Surely he was all right. Surely.
