“You still struggle with the ghosts?” Lionel asked gently.
After one too many snifters of brandy in the gentlemen’s club, Edmund had revealed the ‘ghosts’ to Lionel, explaining that was what he called the memories that struck him out of nowhere sometimes.
Edmund opened his eyes. “They have been less pervasive since I went away, but they remind me that they are still lingering in my mind now and then.”
Lionel nodded in understanding. “How is Sinclair?”
Edmund mustered a smile, grateful to his friend for diverting the conversation slightly. “As miserable as ever, though I suspecthe had a rare time in my absence. Ialmostgained a smile out of him when I asked to see the ledgers upon my return. He did such exemplary work as my steward that I am tempted to let him continue.”
Noticing Lionel’s momentarily horrified expression, Edmund laughed and added, “Of course, I will not, but it was a comfort to know that my estate was in capable hands.”
“Does that mean you will not be in London for much of the Season? I expect you will be eager to return to Davenport Towers to begin afresh,” Lionel said, glancing around with a confused frown. “I had thought I might see Vincent here today. Did he decline the invitation?”
Edmund looked at Isolde again, his eyes widening just a little as he realized she was staring right back at him. Every impulse within him urged him to turn away or lower his gaze, but he did not want her to think he was bothered, so he continued to stare, waiting forherto look away first.
Her eyes pinched and she gave him a look that seemed to say, “What do you think you are staring at?” before one of the nearby ladies said something, and she turned back into the conversation, laughing so brightly that she practically glowed. Some sort of witchery, no doubt, for it could not be explained with common logic.
“Actually, he is in Bath,” Edmund told Lionel. “That is the reason that I have not yet resumed my duties at Davenport. I have beencharged with a very important task, and until Vincent returns, I must remain at my post.”
For you will embarrass him, Isolde, if you are left to your own devices…He mused upon the unknown man who had ‘captured her heart,’ and his stomach began to churn, as if he had swallowed a rock and it was now tumbling around in his abdomen. A strange feeling, half-dread, half something he could not pinpoint.
“What manner of task?” Lionel leaned in, holding his cup and saucer, ready to listen before he took another sip.
Edmund pointed his chin in Isolde’s direction. “The eldest of his three sisters has just debuted. I am to ensure that she finds no trouble for herself while she is searching for a husband.”
“Ah, I remember her,” Lionel said, following Edmund’s line of sight. He frowned, a look of confusion falling across his face. “But why would you be worried about such a thing? From what I can recall, and from what I have heard of her, she is a sensible, respectable, modest young woman. Many of the society mothers have been speaking very highly of her. I should think you would have no trouble at all.”
Edmund turned to observe his friend. “And when have you been spending time with society mothers?”
“I have not,” Lionel replied, withdrawing into his customary reticence. “I… um… happened to overhear at Lord Simpkin’s gathering the other night. They were speakingveryloudly, and Iwas nearby, sampling a rather excellent salmon puff. I did not do it on purpose. Goodness, I would never eavesdrop on purpose.”
Edmund had refused to allow Isolde to attend Lord Simpkin’s ball, for those gatherings were known to be infamous occasions that frequently descended into degeneracy. He had informed her over dinner, and, for a fleeting moment, he had been certain that she was about to launch her fork at him.
But it surprised him thatLionelhad gone to such an event.
“You went to Lord Simpkin’s ball?”
Lionel picked up a lemon tart, to give his hands something to do. “An accident. I misread the invitation.” He paused, frowning as if he was trying to solve a difficult puzzle. “I did not have my spectacles at the time, and you know how atrocious my eyesight is. I thought it was Lord Simson’s ball, and, to my shame, it was several hours before I realized the mistake. I left once the waltzing began. Now, what were we saying? You were speaking of this task of yours, to guard Lady Isolde?”
Edmund hid a smile, content to relieve his friend of his unease. “It is not as simple a task as you might think, for the girl is… more wayward than she appears, with silly notions that will assuredly see her reputation in tatters if she is not closely watched.”
He reclined in his chair, his gaze once again drawn to Isolde as she laughed delightedly, the apples of her cheeks dusted with the prettiest shade of pink, her happiness as contagious as thatlaugh. Of course, Edmund was impervious, forcing his mouth to flatten into a stern line, refusing to indulge in that woman’s frivolities.
“She already had a near-miss with Lord Spofforth,” he added, pulling a wry face at Lionel.
Lionel duly grimaced. “Heavens, did no one warn her? Should you not have warned her?”
“I tried. She would not listen.Thatis my primary predicament, and that is what I mean when I say she is more wayward than she seems.” Edmund dusted pastry crumbs from his fingers, diverting his gaze to check where Julianna was. To his dismay, she was asleep in a chair beneath the shade of an apple tree, utterly oblivious to her daughter’s potential antics.
Lionel jolted, sitting up straighter as he raised his index finger. “Wait a moment—is Lady Isolde not the one involved in the strawberry tart incident? The one who?—”
“She is,” Edmund interrupted, flinching at the memory.
“Ah, so that must mean all is finally forgiven!” Lionel said more brightly. “I did think it rather peculiar that you held such a grudge for so long, when she was but a girl at the time. I find it is always to one’s benefit to forgive where possible. It must be a relief to finally be friendly with one another.”
Edmund downed what was left of his tea and dabbed his mouth a little too aggressively with a napkin, his eyes narrowing at Isolde. She was not looking at him this time, hadnotlooked at him since she caught him staring, and he could not explain why that irked him so. Indeed, there was an unusual strain in his chest, as if hewantedher to look back at him.
“I would not say that,” he murmured, for even if he and Isolde were not constantly in conflict with one another, he knew it would be safer if they were never friendly.
