I should not be alone with them, either.Isolde glanced back over her shoulder, wondering where Edmund and her mother were. She had darted off after her mother had mentioned the awful notion of being a good match with Edmund, but she had expected them to be no more than a couple of minutes behind her.
“If anyone else were to say that,” one of the gentlemen remarked to Lord Spofforth, snorting, “it would sound hackneyed or disingenuous, but it slips so sweetly from those lips of yours, Robert.”
Robert?It was the first time she had heard Lord Spofforth’s name. She let it swirl around in her mind for a moment, like good brandy in a glass, trying to pair it with the man in the palace gardens.
“You must be Lady Isolde,” the woman of the group said, extending a hand. “We have heard so much about you.”
Isolde accepted the proffered hand, shaking it lightly. “All pleasant things, I trust?”
“Oh, undoubtedly pleasant,” one of the gentlemen said, flashing a wink at Robert. “It is rare that a lady is equal to the stories Robert tells about her, but you assuredly are.”
Isolde froze, squinting at the man who had spoken while an unsettled feeling ricocheted across her chest, tiny vibrations of doubt. Robert still had his hand on her arm, his fingers curled a little too tightly. She tried to remember what her masked shadow’s hands had felt like when he held her, but she could not tell if the grip had been the same. Perhaps. Perhaps not.
“Pay no mind to that fool,” Robert said softly, grimacing somewhat. “They have teased me since boyhood and show no signs of ceasing. This is my cousin, Norman, and the one with the unkind tongue is my oldest friend, Oliver. And the young lady is Rebecca—Oliver’s sister.”
Isolde allowed herself to relax, knowing all too well what sort of banter existed between childhood friends. When she was younger, she would eavesdrop on the conversations that Vincent and Edmund had when they thought no one was listening. Every time, she wondered if Edmund had somehow transformed into someone else entirely, for he laughed and jested and behaved quite ordinary when it was just the two friends together.
“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” she said politely.
Robert peered at her for a moment, a different sort of smile playing upon his lips as his eyes shone with a feeling Isolde could not recognize. It almost looked like hunger, but that could not be right, for the garden party would have had a fine array of things to eat.
“Have you no chaperone, Lady Isolde?” Robert asked a few seconds later.
“I do,” she replied in a rush, “but I do not know where they have gone. They were right behind me.”
Robert offered his arm. “Then, let me help you find them. We can chaperone you until then.”
I do not think that is how it works,Isolde wanted to say, but surrounded by the eager insistence of Robert’s friends, she found herself taking his arm and letting him lead her toward the babble and music of the party proper.
They came around to a wide terrace of red-hued stone that stepped down into a beautiful sandstone piazza that had been turned into a dance floor. Low boxwood hedges bordered off exquisitely patterned flowerbeds, all in full bloom, in every vivid color imaginable. On the other side of the piazza, high walls and a quaint wooden gate marked the walled gardens, the exterior guarded by fruiting apple trees, whose boughs bent under the weight of their delicious burden.
An orchestra played in the center of one of the hedged-off sections of garden, and though the hour was still rather early, there were already dancers on the floor. Isolde’s heart leaped at the sight of them, for there was nothing she loved so much as dancing. It was one of the things she had looked forward to the most, as part of her debut—the freedom to dance as she pleased, with whomever she pleased.
Robert leaned in, his breath tickling her neck as he whispered, “Lady Isolde, my dear Aphrodite, would you do me the honor of dancing with me?”
She pulled away, the tingle of her skin more like a brush with a nettle leaf than the feverish flush of infatuation. “I really must find my mother and my… other chaperone first.”
“Nonsense,” Robert insisted, rather more forcefully than she had anticipated. “Taking to the dance floor is the swiftest way to be found. They will not be able to miss you, for all they will need to do is follow where everyone else is looking.”
Isolde chuckled stiffly, not certain if she really felt uncomfortable or if Edmund’s warning about Robert had manipulated her view of him. There was every possibility that Robert meant well and had good intentions, and she was letting Edmund’s attempt at thwarting her Season come to fruition.
He is extroverted, that is all,she told herself.
“I suppose we could dance,” she said shyly, turning to address the young lady in Robert’s group. “Are you married, Rebecca?”
“Happily so,” Rebecca replied.
Isolde took a steadying breath and put on her brightest smile. “Well then, I have no further complaints, as long as Rebecca agrees to act as my chaperone until my own can be found.”
“Rebecca?” Robert said with a gleam in his eyes, as he covered Isolde’s hand with his.
The young woman shrugged. “I cannot profess to be a watchful chaperone, but I will play the part.”
With that, Robert led Isolde down the staggered steps to the piazza. But rather than rush, he seemed determined to walk slowly down those wide steps, like he was trying to parade the fact that Isolde was on his arm.
Whispers rippled through the gathered guests and fans fluttered in front of curious faces to hide gossiping mouths, the sudden and all-consuming attention making Isolde even more on edge. She kept her head down, chin almost to her chest, wishing she had not run on ahead of her mother and, to a lesser degree, Edmund.
I want love, Robert, but I would rather be a spinster than be someone’s trophy.As they reached the edge of the dance floor to wait for the last dance to finish, Isolde was beginning to wonder if Edmund was partially right—not that Robert was a rogue and a rake, but that he simply was not the man for her.
