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He frowned. “I would you retain your honor until wed.”
“My cousin informed me that losing one’s maidenhead is quite pleasurable.”
“I would be cautious with your cousin’s advice. You are the daughter of a duke. Surely you are aware of the consequences. You have a responsibility—”
“I did not ask to be the daughter of a Duke.”
“Isabella, stop being childish. You have no wish to be otherwise.”
“Perhaps I do! Perhaps I would rather be Miss Sherwood!”
He wanted to bark at her to stop mentioning Miss Herwood. He rose to his feet in exasperation.
“If you’ve a desire to forfeit your maidenhead,” he tried, “you could find someone more deserving than Lord Devon.”
“Why have you such a loathing for the man?”
“He is no gentleman.”
“Hah! But you are?”
“He cares only for his own pleasure.”
“You do not give him enough credit. He has been quite considerate to me. Indeed, he admits his rakish behavior. But he says I am quite different from the others he has been with.”
“His charms can be quite persuasive but do not be taken by such flattery.”
“I have no reason to think him insincere.”
It was all he could do not to roll his eyes. The conversation was not having the desired intent. He had hoped to convince her to leave Chateau Follet as soon as possible, but Isabella could not be reasoned with. He would have to pursue his other strategy.
* * * * *
“Riding with Lord Devon and Lady Isabella?” Deana echoed.
Bhadra was already laying out the riding clothes for her. “His lordship will be waiting downstairs.”
“I suppose I mustn’t keep him waiting,” Deana sighed. She had wanted to go riding again but not with additional company.
Bhadra seemed to take extra pains with the toilette, pinning the hat multiple times to ensure it was in its proper place.
“Thank you,” she said to Bhadra. Perhaps her smart attire would mask her lack of skill in riding.
Perhaps.
As handsome as she may have appeared, she could not compare to Isabella, who looked stunning in her plumed hat and fitted nankeen habit with frog and braided ornaments.
“Miss Sherwood, how delightful that you and Rockwell could accompany us,” Lord Devon greeted, bowing over her gloved hand.
Deana could sense the Baron tensing. If he did not like Lord Devon, why agree to go riding with them? The answer was, of course, obvious. Whatever distaste he had for Lord Devon was trumped by Lady Isabella.
The weather was agreeable as they took their horses out. They rode a different route than the day before. Deana was not entirely comfortable riding, but fortunately the terrain they traversed was fairly easy. She envied the men for they seemed much more stable riding their horses astride. At one point their path narrowed and she found herself alongside Lord Devon with Rockwell and Lady Isabella in front of them. Lord Devon had been extolling the fox hunting about Chateau Follet and was his usual cheerful self.
They came upon a clearing and decided to set up a picnic beneath the shade of a tree. The men spread the blanket. Deana busied herself with unpacking the wine glasses, fruits and cheese, conscious of Lady Isabella’s study of her all the while. At one point she returned the woman’s gaze and smiled. Isabella looked away.
“I’ve brought a little reading,” Devon announced, eyes shining. “From the Follet library, a rare copy from Holland, Justine ou Les Malheurs de la vertu.”
Deana noted the frown upon Rockwell’s countenance.
