“What?”
“About the entail. Do you mean to say the estate is not entailed?”
The earl nodded. “No. Issy and Margy.Them.”
“The estate will go to your two daughters?” Harry asked, rather incredulous.
“Yes.Them.”
Harry was certain Lady Isabel had not the first idea of it. Had she, she would not have lived in such fear of the future. She would have seen that quite a lot could be made of the place, even if her father had not chosen to do any of it. She would have known that she could take the estate in hand. She would have known she was not to be left with nothing.
The impediments that had weighed on her had never really been there—all because her father could not even find the energy to communicate in any rational manner.
Further, once she saw that the estate was in ordernowand her father had been roped into sensibility, she must throw off her fears.
She would see it. She would marry him. He was certain of it.
*
Lord Lymington’s parentshad come to Town and much to everybody’s surprise, they had located themselves in the duchess’ house. Neither Isabel nor the duchess had any notion of them doing so until a letter arrived the day before they did.
It had said that they did not see the reason to go to the trouble of opening their own house for what was to be a short trip. As Lord Lymington only took small apartments when he was in town, they must look elsewhere. They were certain the duchess would not mind if they imposed upon her hospitality.
As it happened, the duchess minded very much, but she was also very desirous of a match between their son and Isabel, so she was determined to put a good face on it.
The Duke and Duchess of Hastings had arrived late on the evening before and by the time their rather extensive collection of trunks had been got into the house and they and their servants settled, it was after eleven o’clock.
Isabel had been briefly introduced to them, he a squat fellow who resembled Lord Lymington, though his son was much taller, and she a thin and pinched-looking lady.
Isabel had found herself relieved that they were both very tired and would retire, only requesting trays sent to their rooms.
Now, she sat with some embroidery in the drawing room. It was still early, and she did not expect to have company for another hour or so.
That was fortunate, she needed time to think.
It seemed every day brought her one step closer to the future she had chosen. Every step meant less chance to turn back. It was like choosing snow-covered paths through a forest. Eventually, the decision became permanent because to backtrack would no longer be possible. One’s tracks left behind had since disappeared in the snow.
She had been wise and considered and she’d employed sound judgment regarding her choices. And yet, her decision being made certain and permanent shook her to her core.
What had been abstract and logical was becoming real and terrifying.
Amidst those roiling feelings, she had not the first idea what were they to do with these people in the house. She had thought there would be a dinner or some such event, a thing that would last a matter of hours and then be done. This seemed too much.
But here they were, regardless of how she felt about it. How long would they stay? What did they wish to see from her?
To her surprise, Carlson opened the door and said, “Her Grace, the Duchess of Hastings.”
Lord Lymington’s mother sailed in and said, “Carlson, do bring my breakfast on a tray in here—I cannot abide a breakfast room. Two eggs, soft-boiled. Toast, marmalade, tea.”
Isabel had risen and curtsied. “Your Grace, it was unnecessary to come down, a tray could have been brought up to you.”
“Not with His Grace snoring loud enough to blow off the roof. Our rooms adjoin and it is a veritable series of thunder claps up there. At home, I’ve got him at the other end of the corridor.”
Isabel nodded, as there was no possible comment to be made on such a description. In truth, she had really rather not know anything about the duke’s sleeping habits.
The Duchess of Hastings settled herself and said, “Lady Isabel, I must inform you that I am a direct sort of person. I say what I mean with no dancing round the thing.”
Isabel felt some trepidation growing, as why would a person make such a statement unless they were on the verge of delivering some very direct bad news?
