Page 17 of Engaging Sir Isaac

Millie dared to turn a cheerful expression in his direction. “You sound as though you do not particularly care for those entertainments, Sir Isaac. Are they so terribly boring?” It was a shame a man of his bearing, someone with obvious confidence and good looks, would prove himself against the idea of diversion.

“You used to love parties,” his sister, the countess, said before taking a sip of wine. “And you know that you and I will be invited to a great many of the events, given our status in the neighborhood. You cannot avoid them.”

Sir Isaac dropped his spoon in his soup and gestured sharply to the earl. “But Silas can? I fail to see why it falls to me to wait upon the whims of that particular family. Or their guests.”

A blush rose in Millie’s cheeks and she lowered her eyes to her bowl, determined to empty it quickly. Sir Isaac included her in the distasteful group of guests. The man had absolutely no tact, and if he would insult her so easily she had no choice but to rethink her plan in regard to Lady Olivia’s revenge. How did one convince a hedgehog to cease his prickliness?

The earl answered the outburst after a moment of discomfiting silence. “I have my reasons for avoiding any event where Lord Neil is present. But I will not and cannot avoid all association with the family, or their guests. It would be social and political ruin.”

Mrs. Barnes cleared her throat. “Jacob will probably attend anything to which we are invited. I am afraid my excuse is quite a valid one.” She gave the bit of her midsection above the table a gentle pat. Her husband’s posture changed, as he somehow managed to appear taller and lean toward his wife at the same time. The affection with which he regarded his wife said a great deal about their relationship. He did not mind her reason for keeping away from Society in the least.

The conversation turned, rather expertly by Lady Inglewood, to other neighborhood matters.

Remaining silent, Millie did her best to not so much as glance at Sir Isaac. If he resented her presence, she would not give him greater reason to note it.

Why did his resentment affect her so?

* * *

When the dessert course was laid before him, Isaac perked up. The cake with strawberries and cream atop it was one of his favorites. Had Grace arranged for it on his account? He turned to where she sat, nearly across from him, and prepared to express his gratitude.

Grace glared at him, most pointedly.

As kind and gentle a soul as she was, the glare was disconcerting. He raised his eyebrows, waiting for a reprimand, or a hint at what he had done to earn her displeasure. She looked purposefully to his right, then back at him.

Isaac peeked at Miss Wedgewood from the corner of his eye. The woman was calmly selecting a strawberry to spear with her fork. Clearly, nothing wrong there. After making eye contact with Grace again, he shrugged and raised his eyebrows. Then turned to ask his sister a question, but Isaac found Esther glaring at him, too.

What had he done wrong?

He studied Miss Wedgewood again, this time noting the tension in her shoulders, and along her jaw. Perhaps she was upset. What the other women at the table expected him to do about it, however, was a mystery.

“Miss Wedgewood?” he asked.

She jumped in her chair rather like an abruptly loosed spring, stabbing her plate rather than the strawberry she had meant to eat. The copper-haired woman put her fork down and gave him her full attention for all of a second before she lowered her eyes to his cravat. At least he thought that was where she stared.

“Yes, Sir Isaac?”

As he hadn’t prepared what to say and could not precisely remember what the rest of the table had conversed upon up until that moment, Isaac mentally groped for an acceptable question. “Where did you say your family spends their summers?”

The color in her cheeks faded abruptly, leaving her white. “Usually we remain in London. But my father has a house in Bedfordshire. We live near Woburn.”

“Ah.” Isaac hazarded another glance at Grace and Esther, but neither of them seemed mollified by his first attempt. As Miss Wedgewood’s dinner partner, he supposed he hadn’t been attentive. Yet what did they expect from him? Inviting a stranger, even if she was lovely, among them? He cleared his throat. “And what of your family? You are visiting by yourself. Where are the rest of your people?”

The smile the woman forced appeared uncomfortable. “My parents are yet in London, Sir Isaac. My mother quite prefers it to our country home.” No mention of any other family followed, and when she lifted her fork again Isaac relaxed. She did not wish to speak to him any more than he did to her.

After dinner, when the ladies rose to go to the parlor, Isaac remained with Silas and Jacob for coffee.

“Isaac,” Silas said the moment the ladies were safely away, “do you have a desire to be drawn and quartered?” His tone remained dry, and a lift of one eyebrow suggested he had no intention of amusing anyone.

“You cannot quarter a man who is already missing one arm.” Isaac leaned back in his chair. “What have I done to offend you that you would threaten me so?”

Silas and Jacob exchanged a glance before the earl answered. “I am not threatening you. Merely informing you of what Esther and Grace have planned if you do not repair the damage you have done this evening. Esther has taken a great interest in Miss Wedgewood, and Grace prides herself on setting people at ease.”

“I fail to see what I have done to upset either of them, then.” Isaac tapped one finger on the arm of his chair, considering the situation. “I have been polite all evening.”

“Polite?” Jacob asked, then snorted. “One of the first things you did when we sat down at dinner was to say you had no wish to entertain the guests of the marquess. You do realize that included the woman in our company, did you not?”

The memory of that comment came back, and Isaac winced. “I did say that. But I did not mean Miss Wedgewood. Not precisely. Though she has not done anything to merit my leaving her out of that classification of person, either.”