“Oh!” Isolde snapped out her fan, half hiding her face behind it. “What a charming gentleman you are, Lord Fenton, though you flatter me too much. I cannot accept such a compliment, but Iwillaccept a dance.”
She was as eager to be on the dance floor as Vincent was to reach the fog of the smoking room, though she doubted he would actually sneak off. He had a sister to chaperone, and he would not neglect his duties for the sake of port and cigars, regardless of his claims to the contrary.
Looking as proud as a peacock, Colin led Isolde toward the dance floor, but not before she made another discreet view of the guests in the main ballroom. News of Edmund’s return had left her restless, her chest uneasy with the sort of nerves that struck before an important recital.
Her stomach dropped as she caught sight of a towering figure leaning against the entryway to the ballroom. Dark brown curls, with an undertone of auburn, framed a smirking, annoyingly handsome face, while eyes the color of sapphires twinkled smugly, unfettered by any mask despite the fact it was supposed to be a masquerade ball.
A few ladies were making eyes at him, no doubt ‘charmed’ by his rebellion against the nature of the ball. Isolde could imagine them whispering of how daring he was, to show up without a mask, nudging each other to walk past him or drop something in front of him—anything to capture his attention in return, though his attention was firmly fixed on Isolde.
She glared at him, wondering if he knew it was her or if his face had just stuck that way, forever etched with haughty self-importance.
Why come back tonight of all nights?
Of course, she already knew the answer: he wanted to ruin her debut. Revenge was a dish best served cold, after all, and it appeared he had waited six long years to exact it.
CHAPTER TWO
“Are you well, Lady Isolde?” Colin asked, as Isolde turned in a distracted circle around him, her head moving opposite to her body, her gaze unwillingly drawn to the cream and gold entrance of the ballroom.
Edmund had made himself scarce at the beginning of the dance, but she could not help feeling like he was still in the room somewhere; a prickle down the back of her neck, like she was being watched.
“Pardon? Yes… goodness, I am so very sorry,” she replied, concentrating on her dancing partner. “I thought I saw one of my friends looking rather distressed, but I think I was mistaken.”
I willnotlet you ruin this night, Edmund, as you have ruined so many others,she vowed, putting more enthusiasm into her steps and hops, flashing her most winning smile at Colin.
Unlike Edmund, the Marquess of Fenton seemed to be a true gentleman: shy, polite, intelligent, and bursting with compliments for her. Why should she waste another moment thinking about Edmund and how much she loathed him, when she was supposed to be having the night of her life? A society lady never had the chance to debut twice, so she needed to make the most of it, regardless of what unsavory characters might have been invited.
“Would you like to go to her?” Colin asked, his tone worried.
Isolde shook her head. “There is no need, Lord Fenton. I really was mistaken. That lady was wearing a silver mask, and my friend arrived with a golden one.” She paused to cast him another warm smile. “That is the trouble with masks, I suppose—one never quite knows who they are looking at.”
“That may be true for most,” Colin replied, pressing his palm to hers as they turned three slow circles around one another, their touching hands the center point. “ButIknow that I am looking at the rarest jewel of the Season. It cannot be denied. No gentleman here would argue.”
Isolde smiled at the praise—not too much, not too little. “You really are too kind, Lord Fenton. Truly, my cheeks shall never be cool again for all the blushing you are inspiring.”
“I wish that I could see that blush,” Colin said in earnest, a sigh in his voice. “Indeed, if I may be so bold—and please, strike me with your glove or reticule if I am beingtoobold—would youpossibly consider wandering with me in the gardens after this dance? I hear they are exceptional.”
Isolde’s stomach fluttered with excitement; she was never one to refuse a wander in fine gardens, and she had been longing to explore those at the palace. Every time she wandered by the gates when she was in London, she thought the same thing, how nice it would be to stroll in such exquisite gardens. Having a handsome gentleman beside her would only make it more delightful.
“I should like that very much,” she said. “Once I find my mother, of course.”
“Of course,” Colin replied, gazing at her once again as if she were the most precious thing in the world.
The extraordinary sprawl of manicured gardens was precisely as Isolde had imagined, transformed into a fairy realm by the flicker of torchlight and the silvery moon that shone above, as full and round and perfect as a freshly minted coin. Crushed-shell pathways gleamed white, guiding any guests who might find themselves wandering in the night air.
“I wish I could see it in the daylight too,” Isolde sighed, inhaling the fragrant aroma that drifted from the slumbering blooms and bushes.
“Say nothing to anyone,” Colin whispered, covering her hand with hers as she held onto the crook of his elbow, “but I happen to know the head gardener. A stroll in the afternoon would not be out of the question if that was your heart’s desire. This week, perhaps?”
Isolde nodded eagerly, caught up in the mystery and romance of promenading with a gentleman in such a dreamy place. It did not matter too much that Colin had yet to make her heart pound or her mind race with visions of a potential future, nor that he had barely made her stomach flutter. She was content to enjoy amenable company in a beautiful setting, and to take her time to see if there was any delayed spark between them. Perhaps, it would ignite later on. Perhaps, it would not. There was no rush to make any decisions; it was only her first outing into society, after all.
“That would be marvelous,” she told him, relishing the sound of her shoes crunching against the crushed shells, the sleepy coo of doves coming from a nearby apple tree, and the absolute serenity that enveloped her.
She glanced back over her shoulder, wanting to remark upon the beauty of the gardens to her mother.
A frown creased her brow, panic rising like a saucepan of milk left on the stove, boiling over. She was certain her mother had been right behind them. Indeed, Julianna Wilds, the Dowager Countess of Grayling, had been just as excited as her daughter to venture out into the immaculate gardens.
Letting go of Colin’s arm, she spoke her fears aloud. “Lord Fenton, I cannot see my mother anymore.”
