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Giles had stared at the entry, working out the relationships. Ralph was Lucas’s younger half-brother. That was a close connection to Isobel, but what did it signify and how could it harm her? Lucas and I were lovers, she had confessed. But what of it? She had been betrothed to the man. He ran a finger over the close-packed black lines of type, half-formed ideas worrying at the edges of his mind.
Giles dragged himself back to the present and the other man. He had taken Carstairs into his confidence to a degree, putting it to him that it was in Geraldine’s interests if they could stop her embarking on a destructive feud with Lady Isobel.
‘I’m certain. But I’ve no idea why, she won’t tell me. Threw the coffee pot at my head when I wouldn’t go with her. Damn it, Harker,’ Carstairs said, pulling out a chair and sitting down, ‘I’m not trailing half across the country in support of one of her vendettas and I told her so. Told her you wouldn’t like it, either. Is there any fresh coffee?’
‘Hicks! Coffee for Mr Carstairs.’ Giles picked up his own cup and frowned into the dregs. They held no answers. ‘Any more letters?’
The other man nodded. ‘She
’s been getting letters daily that have been pleasing her inordinately, as I told you, and then this one arrived and she said, Hah! I’ve got the little hussy now and ordered her woman to pack and sent her footman out to hire a chaise.
‘Thought you ought to know, because I’m pretty certain it has some connection with Lady Isobel. Or, at least, something to do with you. When she got these letters she’d stare at that portrait of you over the fireplace with such a look in her eyes. Brrr.’ He shuddered theatrically and peered at Giles more closely.
‘How’s the face? Looks as though it is healing well. Thought they’d carved half of it off, the way Geraldine was carrying on at first.’
Giles shrugged. ‘Healing. There will always be scars. Geraldine attaches too much importance to looks.’ What the devil had the woman discovered about Isobel?
He was prepared to go to any lengths to protect her, he realised, even though he was not willing to put a name to his feelings. Her hints at the ball that she might take a lover had made him jealous, furiously jealous, even while he knew she was deliberately provoking him and would no more do such a thing than fly. With disastrous honesty she had told him she loved him and she had meant it. His attempts to reject her for her own good had made her angry, but it had not changed her love for him, he sensed that.
‘I’m going to Herefordshire to find out what is going on. But I’ll see Geraldine first and make damned certain she stops this nonsense.’
‘The best of luck, old chap,’ Carstairs said with a rueful grin.
Isobel got down from the chaise at the Bell in Oxford at seven in the evening, nine hours after she had finished reading Jane’s letter at breakfast that morning. They had made better time than she had expected, but even so she felt exhausted already and there were another fourteen or fifteen hours travelling ahead of her.
‘Looks a decent enough place,’ Dorothy conceded with a sniff as one of the porters came forward, touched his forelock and took their bags.
‘We will require two adjoining bedchambers and a private parlour,’ Isobel said. ‘The quieter the better.’
‘Yes, ma’am, there’s just the thing free, if you’ll come this way.’
‘And hot water and tea and a good supper,’ Dorothy chimed in, clutching the dressing case that she insisted on keeping with her even though Isobel had brought no jewellery.
‘We’re famous for our suppers, at the Bell.’ The man halted. ‘Just mind this chaise coming in, ma’am.’
The vehicle with four horses sweating in the traces swept into the yard and pulled up in front of them. Isobel stepped back to take a new path to the inn entrance.
The door opened in her face, the porter hurried forwards. ‘Here, mind the lady!’ Dorothy took her arm and a tall figure dropped down onto the cobbles.
‘Giles!’
‘What the devil are you doing here?’ He slammed the carriage door shut and confronted her, for all the world as if he had a right to know of her movements, she thought, feeding her temper to keep the treacherous delight at seeing him at bay.
‘Never you mind my lady’s business and watch your tongue, you rogue.’ Dorothy planted her hands on her hips and confronted him, bristling. ‘A respectable lady ought to be able to travel the country without being accosted in inn yards by the likes of you!’
Heads were turning, more carriages were pulling in. ‘I think we would draw less attention if we go inside,’ Isobel said, tugging at her stalwart defender’s arm. ‘Come, Dorothy.’
‘I’ll have them fetch the parish constable, I will,’ the maid scolded as she marched into the inn on Isobel’s heels. ‘I told you he was no gentleman. What’s he doing here, I’d like to know!’
CHAPTER NINETEEN
‘I, TOO, WOULD like to know what Giles Harker is doing in Oxford,’ Isobel said with feeling. She felt queasy with surprise and nerves, her pulse was all over the place and her thoughts were in turmoil. After that initial shock, the delight of thinking that, somehow, he had come for her, common sense reasserted itself.
What was Giles doing here? It was too much of a coincidence that they should both find themselves in an Oxford inn. Had she been wrong and he was the one behind the mysterious stranger who was probing the secrets of Longmere? But if that was the case it could only be out of some twisted desire to hurt her, to expose her secrets, and surely she had done nothing to deserve that? It was hard to believe she had been so far awry in her assessment of his character.
‘Welcome, my lady.’ The landlord appeared and ushered them farther in. ‘If a nice pair of rooms with a parlour on the quiet side of the house is what is wanted, we have just the thing. If you will follow me, ma’am.
‘I’ll have hot water sent up directly, my lady, and supper will be on the table within the half hour. Here you are, ma’am.’
