What a bit of careful orchestration,Isolde wanted to mutter, but held her tongue. All morning and all through their hours of selection and alterations at the modiste, her mother had not stopped chattering about Edmund and how pleasant he was, and how Isolde really ought to consider him, and how happy Vincent would be if she did.
It had taken every lesson in being ladylike that Isolde had ever learned not to eventually snap at her mother. Instead, she had ignored it, praying her mother would eventually exhaust herself. Ithadbeen working until that moment, and Isolde sensed thatthe impromptu meeting would only reinvigorate her mother’s misplaced matchmaking endeavors.
“Threegowns?” Edmund raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Are they… nice?”
Isolde could not resist any longer, her gaze drawn to him by the strange question. Since when had Edmund cared about her wardrobe? Why, she was more shocked that he had not taken the opportunity to scold Isolde and her mother for being atrocious spendthrifts.
He did not look away, his sapphire-blue eyes locked with hers. And in that look, it was like they were both holding a piece of string, the tension tightening, becoming unbearable the longer they held it.
Warmth tingled in Isolde’s cheeks, rushing down her neck like a fever, her skin remembering the closeness of him. Her forehead grew hot, exactly where he had rested his brow against hers, her face intimately recalling where he had held her, and as she pressed her lips together, it was as if they were back in the drawing room, and she was waiting for him to take that terrifying step of kissing her.
Breathless, she finally dropped her gaze, wondering what on earth was wrong with her. She could not find her brother’s dearest friend, her sworn enemy, appealing. It was impossible.
“Extraordinary!” Isolde’s mother replied. “Truly, the most exquisite gowns I have ever seen, though I rather think thebeauty of them has more to do with the wearer. I have yet to see a gown that does not look exceptional on my daughter.”
Edmund’s voice sounded somewhat thick as he replied, “What colors have you purchased?”
Colors? Is he quite serious?Isolde snuck a glance at him, perplexed by the curious expression on his face.
“One is dark blue, one is a rather daring red, and the other is agorgeousmuslin in a very unusual color—How did I describe it, darling?” Isolde’s mother looked at her daughter expectantly.
“The shade of a lady’s blush in summer,” Isolde mumbled in reply. “I would call it a dusky rose, as that is how the modiste described it. Rather less poetic, but certainly easier to imagine.”
Edmund nodded. “They sound very charming.”
“Oh, they are,” Isolde’s mother said eagerly. “I only wish we could show you them now, but they will not be ready to collect until tomorrow. Today was for the final alterations. But the fabric moves so well, Edmund—I cannot wait to see her dance in them. She will be the belle of every ball; I have no doubt about it. Although, we shall have to purchase some additional adornments and?—”
“Mama,” Isolde interrupted firmly, “I do not think His Grace is interested in hearing about gowns and adornments. He is just being polite, and we have taken up quite enough of his time.”She pointed her chin toward the inn window. “Your friend must be awaiting your swift return.”
And I cannot be here, with you looking at me like that.Isolde’s heart thudded out of time, her mind returning again and again to the drawing room.
She had often daydreamed about her first kiss, imagining a romantic scene on a sunny but windswept day, held passionately in the arms of her husband. His face had never been clear to her, no matter how fervently she dipped into her reservoir of beloved romance stories, but since her debut, every daydream ‘husband’ had worn a mask of roses and thorns. Now, after the dance in her family townhouse, the mask had come off in her imaginings, the gentleman of her first kiss dreams wearing the face of Edmund instead.
She did not know how to stop it, but spending time in his company certainly would not help matters.
“If you will excuse us. We will leave you to your afternoon,” Isolde said, grabbing her mother’s arm and tugging her away with all the force she could muster.
Vincent, when are you coming home?
Isolde prayed it would be sooner rather than later.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“And why, pray tell, are we suddenly ending our afternoon of revels to peruse such places as these?” Lionel asked pointedly, arching an eyebrow at the fine gowns displayed in the windows of the most famous modiste in London, Madame Versailles.
Edmund brushed his friend’s remark away. “Vincent asked me to ensure that his sister was well-attired for the Season’s events. I have been remiss in that duty, but I was reminded by the Dowager’s presence. I shall not be long.”
“Yes, well, you will excuse me if I take myself down the street to the tailor,” Lionel said, his voice tight. “I have no cause to be in a shop for ladies.”
Edmund smirked. “You mean, you have no inclination to be in a shop where theremightbe ladies. Honestly, for someone so intent on chidingmefor not wanting to entertain the prospect of marriage, you are rather reticent yourself.”
“I have nothing to say to women,” Lionel said stiffly. “I certainly have nothing to say to a dressmaker. And let us not pretend that Vincent has anything to do with this abrupt notion to purchase a gown for Lady Isolde.”
He hurried off before Edmund could defend himself, leaving Edmund alone on a rather busy street, where several people were already looking at him strangely. Or, perhaps, they were simply looking at him with interest, wondering if they ought to shove their daughters into his path. It would not have been the first time, and he never had the heart to tell them that it was a fruitless endeavor.
I ought to wear a sign that says ‘Unwilling to Wed. Not a Prospect.’But he had the most awful feeling that that would only encourage the desperate mothers of society, their determined minds deciding that the opposite must be true.
Pulling the peak of his top hat lower over his face and bowing his head, Edmund headed into the dressmaker’s shop.
