“Well… no, but?—”
“Then I spared you both the trouble of pretending otherwise,” Edmund interrupted. “And your dear mother is right—you ought to be thanking me for that.”
Incensed, and ready to hurl the entire tray of cakes and fancies at him, Isolde might have shed her façade of ladylike proprietyaltogether had there not been an abrupt knock on the drawing room door.
The butler, Mr. Richards, entered apprehensively. “There is a Lord Warrington at the door, to call upon Lady Isolde.”
“Then show him in,” Edmund commanded, before Isolde or her mother could.
But as they waited for the next suitor to appear, Edmund did not hesitate to land one last stinging remark. “Let us see ifthisone is the gentleman of your dreams, Lady Isolde, though I truly doubt that anyone could reach such lofty heights of expectation. There is a reason that all of those romantic novels are branded as fiction.”
It took every shred of willpower that Isolde possessed to force her anger into submission, figuring that if she ruined the next visit with her fury it would only give Edmund satisfaction. He would have to look elsewhere for that, no matter how hard he tried to taunt her.
I will not be prevented from finding the man of my dreams because of you. He is in London somewhere.And if the masked man was half the gentleman that she hoped he was, he would want to see her again, to ensure that she had not suffered any after-effects from Colin’s actions.
“Lady Isolde, what a rare pleasure this is,” Lord Warrington began well, his light blue eyes unwavering in their warm attention toward her. He bowed to Julianna and Edmund inturn, but his gaze immediately shot back to Isolde. “I do not know how it is possible, but you look more radiant now than you did at your debut. I confess, I mistook you for an angel, somehow lost in Kensington Palace.”
Isolde beamed at the compliment. “But how could you possibly know what I looked like beneath my mask?”
“Another confession—I have admired you, from afar, since you enchanted everyone at the theater last year,” Lord Warrington replied with a roguish, pleasing smile. “Have you any intention of honoring us all with your presence this year? I have a particularly good view of the stage from my private box.”
Isolde sat up straighter, already enjoying the man’s charm more than she had done with her previous callers. He was undoubtedly tall enough to be her mysterious champion, his shoulders broad, his manner confident, and there was a roughness to his voice that sparked hope that she had foundhim.
“I intend to visit the theater often this Season,” she replied shyly, remembering those strong arms curving around her, and the faint memory of a scent: woodsmoke and something soapy, like rosemary or lavender. “The opera, too, though you must not ask me to decide which I prefer. It would be like asking me which sister I love more—an impossible question.”
“I am exactly the same,” Lord Warrington urged, moving closer to the settee opposite. “You have two sisters, do you not?”
Isolde nodded. “And a brother, who is presently in Bath.”
“I do not need to know such intimate details. What a gentleman does in the privacy of his own chambers to cleanse himself is his own business.” Lord Warrington flashed a debonair grin, conjuring a giddy laugh from Isolde’s throat.
He had been the first of five suitors to attempt a joke, which charmed her all the more. To her mind, humor was as important as station, fortune, appearance, and a keen desire to dance.
“Please, sit and make yourself comfortable,” Isolde insisted, casting a conspiratorial glance at her mother, who seemed equally captivated by Lord Warrington. “Would you care for some tea? A cake, perhaps?”
“Oh, I do not much like tea,” Lord Warrington replied. “I know, admitting such a thing ought to have me exiled from the country, but I would not begin our first proper encounter with a lie. Your company, your conversation, and perhaps a scone shall be enough refreshment for me.”
Shocked as she was that she had met a gentleman who did not like tea,shefelt rather refreshed by his honesty. She was about to tell him as much, when Edmund’s voice pierced through the warm atmosphere like a shard of ice.
“Sitting will not be necessary,” he said abruptly. “Lady Isolde is tired. She has seen enough. You may leave with or without your scone.”
Lord Warrington faltered in a strange half-crouch, his backside hovering a short distance from the settee cushions, his expression confused as he looked from Isolde to Edmund and back again.
“Nonsense,” Isolde insisted with forced cheer. “Do sit, Lord Warrington.”
Lord Warrington sat down slowly, his eyebrows knitted together in consternation. “Is it a jape of some kind?”
“I have no notion of why he said that,” Isolde replied.
“It was no jape,” Edmund cut in. “And do not sit when I have instructed you not to. Lord Warrington, with respect, it is time for you to go.”
Isolde flashed Edmund a dark look. “With respect, Lord Warrington, I do not want you to leave just yet. I have barely made your acquaintance.”
“Well, that is what I thought,” Lord Warrington replied, “but if His Grace wishes me to depart, then?—”
“You ought to do as you are told,” Edmund said. “The first sign of a fine gentleman is how well he takes instruction. You are failing, Lord Warrington.”
Isolde looked to her mother in desperation, as Lord Warrington shuffled to the very edge of the settee, apparently still uncertainas to what he should do. But Isolde could see the desire to get out of there as quickly as possible forming upon the suitor’s perplexed face.
