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Chapter 12
“What in heaven’sname is keeping Parsons?” Robins said, slumping lower in his chair.
Isaac would have liked to know the same thing. He, Robins, and Aunt Margarette had been ready and waiting in the parlor for over a quarter of an hour now.
“I’m sure he wants to look just right when he sees Miss Turner tonight,” Aunt Margarette said with a spark in her eyes. “This is the much-anticipated Christmas Day ball, after all.”
“She’s already in love with him,” Robins continued to moan. “Why bother with looking his best now?”
“Oh hush,” Aunt Margarette said.
Isaac chuckled. “I’m inclined to agree with my friend on this one,” he admitted to his aunt. “Miss Turner is all Parsons’s in heart; what does it matter how his cravat is tied? Or if is shoes are particularly shined?”
Aunt Margarette cast her gaze heavenward as though she could barely tolerate their stupidity. “I do wish they taught more practical knowledge at university these days. I am sure philosophy is all well and good, but it certainly won’t impact your lives nearly as much as knowing how to draw and hold a lady’s attention.”
Isaac shot a chagrined grimace Robins’s way. “I think she has us there.”
“Speak for yourself, Brooks. I happen to be quite good a drawing and holding a lady’s attention.”
“Like you drew and held Lady Nightingale’s attention?” It was Aunt Margarette’s turn to smirk.
“Well said, Aunt.” Isaac laughed.
“I don’t see why the two of you are suddenly so jolly,” Robins said. “I’ve held her attention as long as any man in Carlaby.”
Aunt Margarette nodded. “That’s true. Lady Nightingale has drawn much notice her way, but she hasn’t seemed to find any one man more to her liking than another. I won’t wonder if she removes from Evergreen Cottage as soon as the weather permits and seeks a new husband somewhere else.”
At his aunt’s words, a strange unease settled in Isaac’s chest. It wasn’t as though he’d begun to think she preferred him. They’d shared a most enjoyable afternoon together almost a week ago, but...well, he couldn’t seem to make up his mind regarding her.
Among society, she was polite, respectable. Everything a young widow ought to be.
However, he’d also seen another side to her. At home, she was kind and affectionate toward her son. She was happy and even a bit tenacious.
And yet, she was also Mr. Grant’s daughter.
Mr. Allen, Isaac could excuse, for he was only Mr. Grant’s distant cousin through marriage. They shared no blood. But Lady Nightingale was Mr. Grant’sdaughter, and one could not be raised by a man without picking up some of his characteristics and traits.
All in all, he could not make heads nor tails of her.
She was a puzzlement, and there was no denying it.
“I do hope you will, Isaac,” Aunt Margarette said.
Isaac looked up from the rolling fire—which he hadn’t realized he’d taken to staring at—and found Aunt Margarette looking expectantly at him, and Robins struggling to hold in a laugh.
“I’m sorry,” Isaac said. “You hope I’ll do what?”
Robins’s laughter broke free. “Did you not hear her?”
Isaac could only shake his head.
Robins threw both his hands in the air. “Best joke of the entire trip, and you missed it.”
“Oh, I’m not joking,” Aunt Margarette said.
“I said,” Robins explained to Isaac, “that tonight might prove a perfect time for you to give Miss Dowding a little kiss under the mistletoe. You know, further your claim and see if she welcomes it.” Robins grew more excited as he went on. “And your aunt said she hoped you would.”
“Aunt Margarette,” Isaac said, duly shocked. “Don’t tell me your views of drawing and holding a lady’s attention include scandal.”
