Page 8 of Engaging Sir Isaac

The one bright spot to his evening, the only thing he anticipated with any amount of enthusiasm, was the possibility of seeing the woman who had trespassed upon his property two days previous. She had held herself with such poise, even when he gave her insult merely by not acting as submissive as a servant ought to a gentlewoman.

What would her reaction be to seeing him again when she realized he was Sir Isaac, the man she had attempted to spy upon?

“What are you grinning about?” Esther asked in a whisper as they stepped onto the first-floor landing.

“Nothing of great importance.” Isaac counted the steps from the landing down the wide hall to the parlor. The activity, simple as it was, kept him calm. Stepping into a room full of people all speaking and moving about, perfume hanging heavily in the summer air, was the very sort of situation he preferred to avoid.

The press of bodies at the last assembly he had attended, seven months previous, had left him physically ill. The weakness of his mind had never made itself manifest until after he had returned from war. Who grew sick in a crowd? Who had to spend days nursing an aching head and endure nightmares as payment for being among their neighbors?

Apparently, Isaac did. He had heard that war left its mark upon men’s hearts and bodies in strange ways. But he had hoped losing his arm had been enough of a price to pay.

The fates had other plans for him, it would seem.

Best to stop worrying over it and focus on something he could control. Such as his reaction to the unavoidable shock of that red-headed woman.

Isaac and Esther entered the parlor, and the marchioness stood near the door ready to welcome them. “Sir Isaac, such a pleasure to see you again. We were sorry to miss you in Town this Season. Lady Inglewood, welcome. Such a shame that your husband could not join us this evening.” Though Lady Alderton would never be praised for warmth of character, she always presented a picture of the perfect hostess. Her stately bearing reminded one and all of her relationship, distant though it was, to the royal family.

Esther made the appropriate comments. Or at least, Isaac supposed she did, while he allowed his gaze crawl over the room in search of the woman who thought him a servant. He did not want to miss the moment of recollection upon her face. The sudden surprise.

But she was not to be found.

Perhaps she had already left the country?

Disappointment settled upon his shoulders, more heavily than he expected something as simple as a stranger’s absence to cause. He had sincerely looked forward to that moment of diversion.

A small squeeze of his arm informed him Esther was ready to move away from Lady Alderton and into the room to greet other neighbors. Only those who held titles or great wealth were in attendance that evening. The Parrs were present, as was Lord Sterling, and the Kimballs. Merriweather Kimball made a show of batting her eyes at every male in the room as was her custom.

Thankfully, Esther turned their path toward some of the least objectionable of their neighbors; Mr. Ashford, his son and two daughters. Their family owned a vast amount of land, and shares in a mine further north. Isaac kept his shoulders squared and his expression as pleasant as possible while they spoke. He was not in the mood for much chatter himself.

More guests arrived. Where there had been a comfortable ten people in the room, now it was nearer twenty. Heat crawled up the back of Isaac’s neck and a soft buzzing began in his ears.

He started a mental count to one hundred in his mind, in French. That distraction would see him through until they came to the dinner table, where he could sit and distract himself with food and drink, and focus only on his table companions rather than the room as a whole.

A ringing soprano broke through the din, “…and this is Miss Wedgewood, a particular friend of mine.” Lady Olivia, sour in nature, had still somehow managed to cultivate the voice of an angel. At least she had dropped the foolish lisp she had adopted the previous year.

Isaac turned enough to peer over his shoulder, his hope returning that the friend would be his trespasser.

A woman dressed in a soft blue gown stood with her back to him, her ginger hair wrapped up in an extravagant twist and augmented by yellow ribbons. She was a head shorter than Lady Olivia, who stood beside her, making her far smaller in stature than he had thought given that during his last encounter with her, she had been on a horse.

Isaac waited for her to notice him.

As though sensing his attention, the woman’s head turned. She caught him looking at her from the corner of her eye. Yes. There it was. The confusion. She turned more, meeting his stare with a flash in her eyes, as though affronted by his mere presence. And then she paled, took in his empty coat sleeve, raked her startled gaze across his figure, and ended with a gasp.

Isaac smirked and stepped toward her, away from his sister’s conversation with the Ashfords, and bent to speak to her in a low tone. “I told you. Sir Isaac is quite mad.”

To her credit, her jaw tightened. Obviously, the woman had words to say but she bit her tongue. Her fan flashed in her hand, coming up to cover the lower half of her face from the people on the other side of her, conversing without any idea what was taking place two feet away from them.

“You are Sir Isaac,” she accused with a hiss.

“Indeed.” He straightened to his full height, amused when her cheeks turned pink. He was far too tall for her to converse easily with him in a whisper. The woman would have to mind her words. “And you are?”

She snapped her fan shut. “I was introduced to the room a moment ago. Miss Wedgewood.”

Ah. What a name. It sounded like something a novelist would name a villainess. How fitting for someone of Lady Olivia’s ilk. “I cannot say I am familiar with your family.” He tried not to sound too smug.

The woman’s hackles seemed to rise. Yes, she certainly took his words as an insult. No need to tell her he had been out of Society so long, he hardly recognized any names. It simply did not matter to him which families were considered important. It never had.

Esther appeared at his side, her arm slipping through his. He winced, hoping his sister hadn’t overheard his last comment. “Esther, allow me to introduce you to Miss Wedgewood. Miss Wedgewood, this is my sister, Lady Inglewood.”