“And do you enjoy Cornwall, Mr. Grimshaw?” she asked the fourth of the morning’s suitors—the eldest son of the Viscount of Chelmsley. A handsome fellow but lacking in conversational ease.
Mr. Grimshaw nodded. “There are very pleasant walks. I walk a great deal. Do you walk?”
Do I walk?Isolde resisted the urge to roll her eyes.
“I simply adore long walks,” she replied instead, searching his face for any sign of the masked stranger who had inhabited herdaydreams since her debut. Could it be him? Was that why he was being so reticent? Did he fear she might recognize his voice?
Across the drawing room, by the window, where he had been keeping a stern vigil throughout the morning’s visitations, Edmund cleared his throat loudly. “And Lady Isolde is in need of her constitutional. Thank you for your visit, Mr. Grimshaw. You may leave now.”
The Viscount’s son blinked in surprise. “You wish me to leave?”
“I did not say that,” Isolde replied, mortified by Edmund’s interruption.
No gentleman in want of a wife wanted to hear that a young lady was about to take her morning constitutional, considering the implication. Among polite society, it did not merely mean a brisk stroll, and Edmund knew that all too well.
“You have not even finished your tea, Mr. Grimshaw,” she insisted, flashing her brightest smile. “Please, do tell me more about these splendid walks that you enjoy in Cornwall.”
She did not actually want to hear about them, nor was she particularly interested in Mr. Grimshaw, but she was not going to let Edmund decide when her gentlemen callers were to be dismissed.
“But His Grace has asked me to leave,” Mr. Grimshaw said, standing awkwardly.
Isolde rose to her feet, bursting with sudden desperation. “Were you at the ball the other night? At Kensington Palace?”
Shecertainlycould not allow Mr. Grimshaw to depart before she had, without doubt, figured out if he was her mysterious savior or not.
“Me? Heavens, no.” Mr. Grimshaw glanced at Edmund, as if he did not know if he should continue to speak or scurry off without another word. “I do not favor public gatherings. I am only here because my mother insisted.”
Isolde’s own mother, Julianna, took that moment to chime in. “Oh, do give your mother my fondest wishes, will you not? I have not seen her in an age.” She smiled between the two gentlemen in the room. “And, please, do not be too dismayed. His Grace is simply ensuring that there is no awkwardness when my daughter’s next caller arrives.”
“Of course.” Mr. Grimshaw bowed far too low, clearly rattled by Edmund’s imposing, scowling presence. “Apologies for the intrusion, Your Grace.”
“You are forgiven,” Edmund replied, to Isolde’s abject infuriation.
How was she meant to behave in a ladylike fashion with Edmund standing there, chasing off all of her prospects, acting as if he had any say in who she spoke to at all? But, naturally, she could not berate him in front of Mr. Grimshaw, for though she did notwant the man to pursue her anymore, he might spread news of her being discourteous or unrefined.
“Thank you for your visit, Mr. Grimshaw,” she called after the Viscount’s son as he hurried from the room. Had he had a tail, it would have been tucked firmly between his legs.
The instant she heard the front door open and close, she rounded on Edmund.
“I am sorry, Your Grace, I did not realize that you had woken up as me this morning,” she seethed. “Shall I lend you a gown so you can sit in my place and entertain any other callers who happen to come by? I could stand there in the window and glare at everyone. That would be fun, would it not?”
He had behaved the same way with every caller thus far, scaring them off or outright demanding their departure, giving her little opportunity to get to know a single one. And Isolde was tired of it, wishing he would shove off back to his own townhouse and leave them be, as he had done the previous day.Afterbreakfast, to her lingering annoyance.
Jullianna reached over and grabbed Isolde’s hand. “Be genteel, darling. Edmund is just being cautious on your behalf. Why, who would know a gentleman’s intentions better than another gentleman? You ought to be thanking him for thinning out the herd, so to speak.”
“Thankinghim?” Isolde gaped at her mother. “That settles it—the world has gone mad, or I am stuck in a terrible nightmare.I would rather swim in the Thames than thank that… that… insufferable creature.”
Edmund fixed Isolde with a cold stare. “Are you quite finished?”
“Finished with your interjections, yes,” she shot back.
Sweeping a hand through his dark brown curls, Edmund approached the low table that sat between the two settees. Casually, he poured himself a cup of tea and took a raspberry madeleine from the array of cakes, taking his time, understanding full well how much it annoyed Isolde.
“Did you like Mr. Grimshaw?” he asked, taking a pointed sip of his tea.
Isolde narrowed her eyes at him. “What?”
“Is he the hero you have always dreamed of? Could you envision him as your husband?”
