I do not love Lord Lymington, though I have been led to believe that you do.
I know you will see him this evening at the Willistons’ rout. Please give him the enclosed note and I hope to have the opportunity in future to wish you joy.
Isabel Beaufort
The Duchess of Hastings sniffed. “Lady Isabel assured me that she did not need to love Percy. She assured me that a safe position was her primary aim.”
Lord Lymington turned to Miss Thompson and said, “You were right! She never did love me after all.”
Miss Thompson patted his arm. “You may always rely on my judgment, Percy,” she said kindly. “I will not steer you wrong.”
Lymington appeared pleased as Punch to hear it.
“And the other one? The one addressed to my son?” the Duchess of Hastings demanded, ignoring Miss Thompson’s assurances.
Miss Thompson nodded and read that one too:
Lord Lymington—
I must say some words that you will likely find surprising. I cannot know for certain what your future plans have been, but I am compelled to say what I think they should be. I believe Miss Thompson, the bearer of this missive, is in love with you. I further believe there could not be anybody better suited to you. Please excuse me to your mother and father if that seems necessary.
As a postscript—if you find yourself confused by what I have written, please consult Miss Thompson on the matter. She will explain it to you.
Isabel Beaufort
“So you see,” Lymington said, “I did ask Miss Thompson, I mean Olivia, about it and she did explain it. She’s been in love with me all along and I never even knew it. Also, she likes to talk about horses.”
The Duchess of Hastings groaned. She muttered, “Or in love with the idea of becoming a duchess.”
“Your Grace,” Miss Thompson said, “you seem to have the temperament and stamina that would allow you to live a hundred years. So, if I were aiming to be a duchess any time in the near future, it would not be with Percy. Furthermore, he is the kindest, gentlest, most guileless man I have ever encountered. I love him to pieces and that is that.”
“That’s exactly what she said to me at the Willistons’. She said,and that is that,” Lord Lymington said, looking very pleased.
Harry cleared his throat. “All my felicitations, Lymington.” He turned to the Duchess of Stanbury and said, “Now, I really must see Lady Isabel. Do me the courtesy of having her called.”
The Duchess of Stanbury waved her hands as if signaling some sort of defeat. “She is not here. She’s gone to Hertfordshire.”
Hertfordshire? Harry hardly knew what to make of that information. Was it even true? Or had the duchess had Lady Isabel locked above stairs or in some other way detained? He would tear the house apart if that were the case.
The duchess, seeing his expression of disbelief, held out a sheet of paper. “Read it for yourself.”
Harry crossed the room and took it, scanning its contents. She had gone. She had really gone.
Most importantly, she had written,I must go to him.
Him. He was him. She must go to Harry Vance.
“Well!” he nearly shouted, “I’ll be off to Hertfordshire then!”
“I do not approve, Mr. Vance,” the Duchess of Stanbury said. “I do not approve at all.”
“Butshedoes,” Harry said. “And I think her father will too.”
“What I say is,” the duchess huffed, “you do not have my blessing.”
Harry smiled. “Fortunately, Your Grace, I do not need it.”
He turned on his heel and left the drawing room. Harry passed by Carlson, who was sitting on a bench with an uncorked bottle of port beside him.
