“I’m off to Hertfordshire, Carlson,” he said cheerfully. “What’s to be the weather?”
Carlson narrowed his eyes and said, “If there is any justice in this world, Mr. Vance, you will encounter a blinding side rain with tornadic gusts and a swerving fog.”
Swerving fog. Harry laughed himself all the way out of the house and back on his horse.
He would stop at his house and have Ares saddled. Ares was a beast of a horse who had unbeatable stamina.
It was late, and the ride would not be without dangers. He needed to be on a horse who would not quit were he pursued by the unsavory elements haunting the roads at this time of night.
Most of all, he needed to be on his way back to Hertfordshire this very hour.
*
While Isabel hadbeen disappointed that she had missed Harry Vance, she could not help but be gratified too. Her carriage had no doubt crossed paths with his horse as he flew to London to stop her from marrying Lord Lymington.
He would be there by now and he would have heard that she’d set off for Hertfordshire. He might even know that she’d thrown over Lord Lymington and proceeded to throw him directly in the path of Miss Thompson.
He would know her real feelings. She prayed he was happy to know them.
She had since taken a tour of the house, she and Betsy escorted by Smith, who pointed out all the improvements.
It was remarkable, what had been done. There was not a speck of dust anywhere, everything had been either polished or replaced. New curtains were on every window, the windows themselves were clear as new ice, and her bedchamber had been entirely remade.
Gone was the leaky ceiling, and in was fresh linen bedding, a new rug, the chimney cleaned so the fire did not smoke. New paint was on the walls, a charming pale blue with matching blue silk curtains. Had Harry Vance chosen the color for her? She hoped so, it was everything lovely.
She had been especially touched that a new pianoforte had been brought into the music room and it was in tune. Harry would have thought of that, as that had been his first inkling from her that all was not well at Somerdon House.
Now, she sat in the drawing room, pouring tea for her father from a new silver service.
“Him. Just turned up.Changes, don’t you know,” the earl said.
“Yes, Father,” Isabel said. “Mr. Vance turned up and changed everything. He’s put you on the right path.”
The earl shrugged, as if he was not certain he’d ever wished to be on the right path. Then he pointed at Isabel and said, “Married? He says so. Tohim?”
“I certainly hope so,” Isabel said. “And I know I can count on you for your unreserved blessing.”
The earl narrowed his eyes. “Running round everywhere. Too much.No.”
“Yes, he is exceedingly energetic,” Isabel said. “Do not bother saying no, he will ignore the sentiment, as will I.”
“You.Changed,” the earl said sulkily.
“Ihavechanged,” Isabel admitted. “There is no going back now. I will marry Mr. Vance if I have to ask him myself. We will race off to Gretna Green if necessary. That is my final word on the matter.”
Before the earl could counter Isabel’s final word with one or two of his own disjointed stylings, she heard the clatter of hoofbeats on the drive.
Was it him? It might be him. It would be very like him to decide not to wait until morning. Had he come to her straightaway from London, braving highwaymen all the way?
Isabel leapt up.
The earl said, “Who?”
“I cannot be certain, Father, but I am praying it is Harry Vance.”
She ran from the room and down the corridor, passing a footman hurrying to the sound of an arrival. She flung the doors open.
It was him. He had come.
