A shadow fell across Isolde, and though she had her back turned to whoever had just stepped into the entrance hall behind her, she knew who it was. The fearsome presence of him thrummed up her spine, tickling the nape of her neck, as if he had just brushed his fingertips against that spot to sweep away a loose lock of hair.
“Mr. Thorne,” a deep, familiar voice rumbled. “I do hope I did not mishear as I came through the door. It could not possibly be correct that you were chastising Lady Isolde, now, could it?”
Martin had to tilt his head up slightly to look at the newcomer, his alarmed, wide-eyed expression reminding Isolde of something that she could not quite recollect.
“Not chastising, no,” Martin said in a hurry. “I was merely… making suggestions for her next outing with my sister. Indeed, I heard you were rather heroic in her moment of great need. I must thank you, deeply, for taking such excellent care of her.”
Edmund moved to stand at Isolde’s side, and though she did not peer up to look at him, she could tell that he was wearing one of his most unimpressed expressions. A look she knew well.
“You should thank Lady Isolde,” Edmund said firmly.
“Well, of course, she was there. It is to be expected that a friend should help a friend, but when I heard thatyouhad aided my sister, I was overcome with gratitude,” Martin rambled, clasping his hands together. “Truly, that was a very pleasant surprise indeed, to learn of your good deed.”
Edmund took a half step forward, casting Isolde in more of his shadow. “You mistake me, Mr. Thorne. I did nothing. And I would like you to thank Lady Isolde.”
“Pardon?” Martin seemed confused, frowning as though Edmund was speaking in a foreign language.
“Shewas the one who had the idea to ask some ladies for refreshments, to aid your sister,” Edmund replied. “So, thank her. I would hear it.”
Martin’s brow furrowed, his mouth pressed into an irritated line. Nevertheless, a few moments later, he dipped his head to Isolde and said stiffly, “Thank you for your kindness toward my sister. I am grateful to you for your swift thinking.” He gestured up the hallway. “Would you please follow me? Dinner will begin shortly.”
“The Dowager Countess has not yet appeared,” Edmund said, causing another flicker of irritation to cross Martin’s face. “She will not be long.”
Martin forced a smile. “Then, let us wait.” He glanced at Isolde. “Actually, if it is not too much trouble, would you be so kind as to go and find my sister in the dining room?” His attention flitted back to Edmund, his tone simpering as he continued, “I was hoping to speak with you alone, Your Grace. Only for a moment or two.”
“I would be delighted,” Isolde said, surprising herself as she looked to Edmund for his agreement.
He nodded discreetly, and Isolde did not need to be told twice, for though she did not much like Martin, she had been looking forward to seeing her friends and the fabled Beatrice all day.
Edmund would have preferred to be anywhere else, for he hated dinner parties at the best of times, and after Martin Thorne’s brief ‘interrogation’ in the entrance hall, he was even less inclined to have a nice time.
He thinks he is being clever. He thinks I cannot see right through him.But considering Edmund had found himself seated beside Amelia, any attempt at subtlety from Martin had unraveled. And that was without the talk Martin had tried to have with him.
“Have you had any success this Season? I suppose it is still rather early, but if the right lady were to come along, there is no reason to hesitate,” Martin had said. “My father is unable to join us this evening, but I thought, if you are not otherwise engaged, that you might like to come to a smaller gathering next week, when he is in the city again.”
“How small?” Edmund had asked, already suspecting the answer.
“Oh, well, it would just be you and me and my father. Perhaps a couple of friends, though everyone is so occupied with their own gatherings and parties that it is impossible to pin anyone down! You assuredly know what I mean,” Martin had replied in earnest, glancing at the door every couple of seconds, probably to ensure that they were not interrupted by Julianna.
In the end, Edmund had told him that he would let him know in due course. Most gentlemen would have understood that as, “No, thank you,” but it appeared to have bolstered some kind of determination in Martin. Some hope that he had no cause to have.
A soft murmur to his right diverted Edmund’s distracted mind. “Pardon?” he said. “I am afraid I did not quite hear you.”
Amelia’s cheeks reddened, her gaze lowered to the napkin draped over her lap. “I asked if you were well, Your Grace.”
“Very well, thank you. And you?”
“Quite well,” she replied, puffing out an uneasy breath. Clearly, she was enjoying the evening as much as he was.
Taking pity on her, he cleared his throat. “The soup is very pleasant. You must have an excellent cook.”
“Oh yes. I adore her. She makes the most delicious dishes,” Amelia replied, her voice a little steadier.
Edmund paused, his attention drawn to the pair who sat opposite. He had been trying very hard not to look at Isolde, nor the gentleman seated beside her, but where he was struggling to think of anything to say to Amelia, the gentleman opposite appeared to have no difficulty engaging Isolde in conversation. And she, in turn, was responding with charming ease, her eyesbright, her smile genuine, her laughter somewhere between the artificial and the real thing.
“Tell me of your sisters,” the gentleman, whom Edmund knew to be Noah Humphries, the Viscount of Mentrow, asked. The fellow’s gaze was intent and interested, giving Isolde his full attention.
Isolde dabbed her lips with a napkin. “Well, the older of the two, Teresa, is one of the most intellectual people I have had the privilege of knowing. There is very little she does not know, and she reads so voraciously that one wonders if she sleeps at all. She is what I would call the peaceful one. The mediator.”
