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He found himself smiling in return. “I do not like to see a lady in distress.”
“Oh?” She lifted a single brow. “Now I’m a woman in distress? Next you’ll be telling me I appear quite haggard.”
Isaac’s gaze traveled over her elegant dress, regal auburn hair, and milky white skin. No, Lady Nightingale was far from haggard. He doubted she could look haggard if she tried.
Lady Nightingale stopped and turned toward him. “I’m sorry, Lord Brooks. I do appreciate your concern, and I don’t mean to sound ungrateful.”
“Then why not tell me what’s troubling you?” Because he knew something was.
She pursed her lips and ran a hand over her skirt, seeming to contemplate if she should or not. At length, she spoke once more. “It’s Joseph.”
Her son? “Is he all right?” Surely the boy wasn’t sick or injured. The thought of the bright-eyed Lord Hoskins hurt made his stomach twist into a tight knot.
“Nothing like that.”
Her words eased the tension building inside him.
“It started this morning at services,” she continued. “He...said a few things that upset me. Ever since, he’s been going on about when can he learn to shoot, or how does one shave, or will he attend Cambridge or Oxford one day.”
They did seem like rather random questions from the boy. Lady Nightingale shook her head, her hand going to her forehead as it had when she stood by the refreshment table.
Then the pieces fell into place; they were all questions a boy would ordinarily ask hisfather, not his mother. Shooting. Shaving. Even attending university. Something shifted about in Isaac’s chest, as though Lord Hoskins’s questions were knocking at his heart. He suddenly knew a desire to reach for Lady Nightingale, to place a hand on her arm, or take her hand, or...even pull her into his arms and hold her like he had that afternoon in the snow.
But he didn’t do any of those things.
Because that would be foolish in the extreme.
Instead, he clasped his hands behind his back to keep them from misbehaving.
“He is still young yet, for any of those things.”
“But he won’t be young forever.”
Isaac bent at the waist, bringing their heads closer together. “I have no doubt that you are more than capable of finding solutions to these and any other problems bacon-brained enough to stumble into your path.”
She smiled, a bit of spark returning to her eyes. He could still see the worry and uncertainty in her posture, but she seemed lighter, more like her true vibrant self.
His heart lurched inside his chest at the sight.
Isaac suddenly became aware that he and Lady Nightingale were being watched.
“Do you think he means to actuallyusethe mistletoe? Or only stand stupidly beneath it, blocking the way for those of us who are more intelligent?”
Parsons.Isaac stood up straight and shot his friend a glare. It was only after he scowled most intently that he realized Miss Turner was on Parsons’s arm. Isaac schooled his expression. He gaze drifted back to Lady Nightingale who was looking up at the ceiling above them, a blush slowly creeping over her cheeks. Isaac didn’t have to look up to know what she was gazing at.
Blast. He’dknownthere was mistletoe hanging in this corridor. But he’d been so wrapped up talking to Lady Nightingale, somehow the fact had slipped his mind. He would have thought perhapsshehad contrived a way to get him beneath it—he didn’t doubt she was clever enough to have done such a thing—except he knew she had no desire to kiss him. His title was below her own, and he’d hardly a shilling to his name.
It seemed they’d both been caught unawares.
“Well, get on with it.”
And Parsons wasn’t helping matters.
Isaac kept his voice low, not wanting to further embarrass Lady Nightingale. “If you wish to simply turn around and leave, I’ll not blame you.”
“You can’t do that,” Miss Turner insisted; apparently, Isaac had not spoken as softly as he’d hoped. “It would mean bad luck. If a couple is caught beneath the mistletoe, theymustkiss.” Miss Turner sounded almost panicked. She must believe in such things far more than he did, then. For, though Isaac may be ridiculed if it got out that a woman had turned down a kiss from him on Christmas Day, he doubted he’d face any worse luck than that.
Lady Nightingale looked far less certain. Her fingers fidgeted and, for the first time since he’d met her, she wouldn’t look him in the eye.
