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“In the drawing room, My Lady,” Martha replied. “Please, let me get you dressed now.”
Nodding, Adelaine took off her outer coat and the fur-lined mantle below it. The simple dress was taken off and, as she washed her face, Martha came over with her smock and corset. She dressed quickly in a pale-blue dress with a heavy burgundy brocade. As Martha set the matching silk-lined headdress on her head she wondered what more those letters would tell her.
Moreover, who had put them there?
She knew that when she had first ridden out to the old tree there was no disturbance between the trees’ roots, so someone had to put them there. Who had done it and why?
We shall still play b’neath ye old oak tree’.
Peter’s last words, told to her by Caelan. At first, she had thought them to be nonsense, words uttered by a mind riddled with pain. Now though…what more could they mean? She felt like she was swapping one mystery for another, first the circumstances of Peter’s death and now this. How many layers would she have to peel away to uncover the naked truth?
Standing, she nodded to Martha and went from the room to the stone corridors and then the stairs. She found Islington standing by the window and gazing out. The Viscount was in dark blue, a color that could be mistaken for black if one did not look closely. His hair was rakishly askew when he turned to her and it was the mercy of God that stopped her from shivering in repulsion when his eyes dipped down her body and up again.
“My Lord,” she curtsied. “You have a glow about you. May I ask why?” Her words were bait and, never-failing, he took it.
“Why wouldn’t I?” he bowed. “I’m looking at you. You are the most fetching creature I’ve have ever laid my eyes on.”
“Be still my beating heart,” Adelaine replied dryly. “Your flattery is still not working, My Lord.”
“There is no harm in trying,” Islington smiled slyly. “One day you will succumb to my charms.” He offered her arm. “Let us go to my carriage, My Lady.”
She took his arm and they went to the front room where her maid was waiting in her dark dress and hair in a solemn bun. Islington nodded to Martha as they passed by her. She was helped into the carriage and Martha took her seat.
“My father is looking forward to seeing you,” Islington said. “He did not get much time to speak with you the last time.”
“I did run,” Adelaine replied.
“Not only that time, the times before, when we first met,” Islington replied. “You have the bearing and countenance of an empress, one that would fit the role a Viscountess.”
“Is that a second proposal, My Lord?” she asked.
“Not directly,” he replied. “But if it would help my second chance at success, I don’t see why not.”
Her smile was pained. “If the night plays out well…”
Islington grinned. “It will.”
During the carriage ride, they spoke on light topics, with Adelaine stanchly shifting away from the topic of marriage. After the third time she deflected, she knew Islington had caught unto the notion and not a word about it was said again.
Adelaine knew he was a bit unsatisfied with her avoiding the topic but he held his peace knowing that she had told him her reticence. She could only hope that he was gentleman enough to allow her the time and space she needed to come to a decision about him.
They arrived at his father's home, chatting about the scandal Catherine de’ Medici faced with her husband King Henry II’s, chief mistress, Diane de Poitiers. “Can you imagine seeing such blatant indiscretion day after day?”
“Sadly,” Islington said as he helped her out. “That is the rule of law for our monarchs.”
“God help me, I would never suffer ignominy like that,” Adeline said.
Up the steps of the hulking black gothic mansion, they were received by the chief butler and shown to the dining room. Adelaine had expected an intimate dinner of three, perhaps four, but the dining room had about twelve people inside.
The exterior of the place made her expect the same dour inside but, to her delight, the interior was the direct contrast. It was one of elegance and exorbitance. Copper lanterns were affixed on every sconce and a large, cast-iron chandelier lit with many tiny candles was overhead.
Her eyes landed on beautiful women who looked at her, then their gaze flitted to the Viscount standing beside her, only to turn away with secret smiles suddenly hidden by feathered fans. She pretended to ignore them.
“This way,” Islington said, as he took her over to his father.
She did not need to see him, she heard him. Earl Westhall’s laugh boomed and she flinched slightly. Thankfully, Islington had not picked up on it as he led her to the older man clad in clothes that could have been the King’: a leather jerkin with a w
hite-black doublet with gold stitching; a white satin shirt; and a black overcoat lined with golden satin and golden ribbon.
