“A pocket watch caught my eye,” Edmund lied, pressing on up the street.
Lionel did not run to catch up to him, but marched with longer strides until they were side-by-side once again. “I think it is more than a pocket watch that has caught your eye, Edmund.”
“It is not,” Edmund insisted, clenching his hands into fists.
Lionel shrugged. “In that case, if itismerely a pocket watch, why deny yourself? All you have to do is say that you want it, and I have no doubt that it could be yours.”
“It is just a dress!” Edmund rasped, wishing ever more fervently that he had not bothered with the endeavor at all. “And until Vincent returns, Isolde’s position in society is my duty. I must ensure that she is favored, talked about for the right reasons, andengaged to be married before the Season’s end. So, please, let us go to Golding’s and speak of other things.”
Lionel put up his hands in a gesture of calm surrender. “I do not know why you sound so exasperated.Iwas just talking about a pocket watch.”
“AndIwas just reiterating that I do not want one,” Edmund retorted, as his sneaky mind drifted back to the drawing room andherand just how much he had wanted that kiss.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“Should someone visit to make sure he is well?” Teresa asked, a closed book resting on the dinner table beside her barely touched plate of food.
Prudence snorted, devouringherdinner as if she had not eaten in a week. “Check he is alive, you mean.”
“Prudence!” their mother shrieked, sipping eagerly from her wine glass as she always did when her nerves were in need of steadying. “Why would you say such a terrible thing? He is perfectly well and perfectly alive! If he was not, we would have heard about it.”
Isolde remained silent, pushing half a roasted potato around her plate until it had absorbed most of the glistening sauce that had trickled away from the crisped leg of chicken.
For three days, she had walked back and forth to the front door, determined to make the short journey to Edmund’s townhouseto see what was wrong with him. Each time, she had stopped herself, certain that if he was keeping his distance then he had good reason for it. A reason that she should not bother herself with.
“Isolde?” her mother’s voice dragged her attention up from the sodden potato.
“Yes, Mama?”
“You do not know what has happened to poor Edmund, do you?”
Prudence stopped eating, a wicked glint of mischief in her eyes. “Oh, Izzie, what have you done? Did you chase him away with one of my tricks? Was it the bucket on the door? The mackerel sewn into his bedlinens?”
“It is most unlike him to neglect his duties,” Teresa added quietly, assessing Isolde with a more pensive look. “Did you quarrel again? I thought I saw you fighting from the carriage window, the day before he ceased coming here.”
The dinner that Isoldehadmanaged to eat suddenly turned into a rock in her stomach, her throat closing as she stared back at Teresa. Surely, her sister had not seen what hadalmosthappened. Either Isolde or Edmund would have heard a carriage coming to a halt that close to the drawing room windows, would they not?
I was rather distracted… Might I have missed it?
After all, they had not heard footfalls coming up the porch steps. They had only heard the squeak of hinges, moments before catastrophe could occur.
“Why are your cheeks red, Izzie?” Prudence crooned, no doubt thrilled to have suspicion turned on someone other than herself.
The girls’ mother set down her knife and fork and looked Isolde in the eye, her lips pursing as if she had just eaten something unpleasant. “When did you see this fight exactly, Teresa?” she asked without diverting her attention from Isolde. “Whatdid you see, exactly?”
Isolde could not risk glancing at her sister, to silently implore her to remain quiet on the matter. She did not even know if Teresadidhave anything to divulge, but it definitely felt like an axe was about to drop.
I did not do anything wrong. There was no kiss. Indeed, all I am guilty of is… wishing there had been, but I have overcome that foolishness now.
She knew, deep down, that Edmund’s sustained absence likely had something to do with that near-miss of a kiss. As time had worn on, she had thought of it with less fondness and more annoyance, for how could she actually overcome that memorable moment if he would not talk to her about it? Surely, discussing it was the more mature thing to do, so they could dismiss it and move on?
“I could be mistaken, as it was very dark in the drawing room and the drapes were partially closed,” Teresa said nervously, not quite dooming Isolde but not reprieving her either. “I thought I saw Isolde and His Grace arguing but, as I say, I might be mistaken.”
Prudence pulled a face. “You did not tell me. I could have confirmed whether or not they were arguing, for my eyes are keener than yours. You have worn yours out with all of your reading by candlelight when you are supposed to be asleep.”
Their mother put her hands up, the gesture commanding silence. “I shall talk to you about reading by candlelight later, Teresa,” she muttered. “As for you, Isolde—is this true? Did you argue with Edmund? Is that why he has returned to his townhouse without a word?”
“There was no argument,” Isolde said a note too quickly. “He came into the drawing room, realized I was alone and unchaperoned in his presence, and immediately left again. I do not know why he has not come back, but you saw our interaction on the riverbank—we were no different than usual. That was after what Teresa must have seen which, I repeat, was not an argument.”
