Harry ignored his valet’s rather fanciful claims. He was certain Smith had never foraged for anything in his life. “What has the earl had to say for himself this evening?” he asked.
“What did he say? Let’s see. Something along the lines of: “Him. What? Here, don’t you know. Change.No. Dreaming? Could be. Deuced awful. Go away. Chicken is mine.Paidfor. Rogers so slow.”
Chapter Seventeen
The days andweeks were passing in a blur for Isabel. The duchess had been busy going round the town to tamp down talk about Lady Featherstone’s Bow Street Runner trousers, Lady Redfield’s calamitous wooden shoes, and Lady Mendleton’s doll-baby.
Isabel had thought the presence of the doll would be the least of it. And it might have been, had Lady Mendleton not named it Margaret and took to explaining Margaret’s personality to fascinated onlookers at supper. Margaret, despite the duchess’ prediction that she would end up under a chair, had been given her own place at the table.
Despite Lady Featherstone’s assurances, it turned out Lord Featherstone had been rather floored to discover his lady had been gallivanting about the town in pants. The duchess said he’d extracted a solemn promise that she would never do so again and then stolen out of the house with the offending item of clothing. She assumed he’d had the trousers burned.
Lady Redfield and Lord Jeffries got through things rather better despite taking down half the ballroom. Everybody admitted that a costume could go wrong in untold and unexpected ways. Did they not all recall Lady Davida’s six-foot train years ago? The poor Prince of Wales had inadvertently stepped on it and rode on it a few feet as the lady walked forward. Until the inevitable happened—either the Prince or the fabric must give way. As the Prince had grown rather substantial in his person, it was the fabric that had given up the ghost. After a loud tearing sound, Lady Davida found her bodice ripped from her in a most alarming fashion.
In any case, thetonseemed far more interested in the idea that Lady Redfield and Lord Jeffries had both been bruised from head to toe and spent most days recovering in Lady Redfield’s drawing room over pots of tea.
When the duchess was not, as she termed it,cleaning up her friends’ messes, she and Isabel took their horses to the park each day. At least when Isabel had her mare at a gallop, she did not have heavy thoughts upon her.
They sometimes encountered Lord Lymington in the park, and he called at the house too. He had read a book on the meanings of flowers and had begun bringing daffodils to hint at his regard.
He also took another run at poetry. He was determined to write one himself that did not include any well-fed pheasants. One afternoon he stood in the drawing room and said:
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May—
Isabel had quickly interrupted him and said, “Lord Lymington, you did not write that yourself.”
He’d hung his head and said, “No, I found it in a book. It’s nice though, isn’t it?”
He was a dear of a man, bumbling though he was. He aimed to please though he had few personal resources to do so. She had not had much success getting him off the subject of weather, and the even more unfortunate topic ofdolphinsand the weather. Every time he came to the house, he managed a conversation with Carlson.
Isabel had begun to wonder if she ought not be clear with Lord Lymington on why she would consider him as a future husband. She did not wish to fool him into believing she had romantic feelings where there were none. Theirs would be more the sort of friendship upon which many successful marriages were built.
She had told Mr. Vance that she would be transparent about her wish to be settled safely and she had meant it.
Isabel especially felt the urgency of it now. His parents would arrive soon and, on top of that, she had begun to sense that Miss Thompson had a real interest in Lord Lymington. She seemed to find him vastly amusing and appeared very indulgent of him.
She wondered if Miss Thompson would have revealed that she already knew Sonnet 18 by Shakespeare and that Lord Lymington certainly did not write “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day.” Or perhaps the lady would have allowed him to have his little ruse.
Mr. Vance had come out and told her plainly that Miss Thompson had set her cap. Though, Isabel had preferred to see for herself.
Shehadseen it—both at Lady Redfield’s musical evening and once when she and the duchess had encountered them deep in conversation in the park. They had been talking of horses, and Miss Thompson had seemed delighted to be doing so.
Of course, Lord Lymington would not have noticed the lady’s particular interest. He did not pick up on such things and Isabel thought that might be because he was exceedingly modest.
Isabel had brought up Miss Thompson in conversation and he’d only said, “She’s very nice!” He’d then paused for what seemed like a full minute and looked very much like he was ashamed of himself. He broke the silence by saying, “I know you will not approve, but she does like to talk about horses.”
Was she doing Lord Lymington a grave disservice by being in the way of a lady who had a real affection for him?
She’d even mentioned the idea to the duchess. The duchess had said, “My dear, the marriage mart is no less brutal than a Roman colosseum. Step aside for nobody.”
What if she were to cause a lost chance for Lord Lymington in finding real love with Miss Thompson? But then, what if she were to cause disaster for herself in stepping aside?
She must allow Lord Lymington to decide for himself by understanding where she stood. The problem was, how to apprise the lord of her feelings, or lack thereof? It would be far too presumptuous to broach the conversation before there was a proposal. And yet, after a proposal seemed too late. Was such a thing communicatedduringa proposal?
As if that was not confounding enough, she’d been hearing more and more talk about the disappearance of Mr. Vance. It seemed to be a topic of endless speculation, particularly because he’d said he did not wish people to know where he’d gone.
