“I made my own arrangements. First, a coach up through Reading and Basingstoke, and then another to Salisbury,” Isadore replied, allowing herself to be led inside by Margaret. They stopped before Alexander. “It was not the most pleasant day of my life... But I did not want to give the wrong impression by asking too much of you too early.”
“Does this mean that you are interested in an acquaintance?” Alexander asked.
“It seems a pity not to be,” Isadore answered.
“A very sage response,” Margaret said. “And from now on, Miss Bell, you may ask of us what you wish. Dinner will be served shortly. Are you hungry? Why yes, you must be ravenous after such lengthy travel.”
“I will not refuse a hot meal.” Isadore seemed genuinely at ease with Margaret, allowing a footman to take her coat on Margaret’s order. She said, once divested, “But do you not think we should wait for the other gentleman outdoors?”
“Whom do you mean?” Alexander asked.
“A young man.” Isadore pointed back the way she had come. “He arrived moments after I did on horseback with a carriage not far behind. These other trunks are not mine. I thought you knew.”
Margaret and Alexander shared a look. That did not sound like Carlisle. A moment later, another figure darkened their door.
“Such a large welcome party,” Bastian said, removing his top hat and exposing a shock of brown hair. “Surely not all of this is for my benefit?”
"Diana Dawson-Duff,” Margaret said, tapping her fingers against her wine glass. “I’m afraid I cannot recall any young lady by that name, Mr. Hawthorne. But you say she is quite lovely. Who is her father?”
“Viscount Blakely, Richard Dawson-Duff, though they mostly call him Dickie,” Bastian explained, finishing his hake with a grin. He wiped his mouth on his serviette, sighing happily, and Margaret shot an amused smile Alexander’s way. “They reside primarily in London, but the father spends most summers in Yorkshire. They have just returned there, for fact, since the mother is unwell. Country air, they said, does the woman wonders, sad though I am to be parted with my love.”
“I have a friend who has spent many summers in Yorkshire. I shall have to ask her whether she knows of these Dawson-Duffs once she returns to England.” Margaret took a sip of her wine, then turned to Isadore. “Have you traveled much, Miss Bell?”
Isadore had barely touched her meal, moving the fish around in its cream sauce. She looked uncomfortable at the table, despite Margaret’s efforts to supply her with wine. Alexander watched her discreetly, wanting to know more about his sister, though it felt strange to think of her in this way, this woman he had only met twice.
“Today was the furthest I have ever traveled in my life,” Isadore replied, her silverware chiming against her dish as she set themdown. Servants withdrew from the shadows to clear their plates, and Isadore’s face flashed with relief. “With the exception of the journey from France to England, of course. But I was so young, I do not remember a thing about those days except the boat ride.”
“You do not enjoy being on the water?” Margaret asked.
“I remember feeling terribly sick.”
“Such a long journey for a child,” Bastian added, turning eagerly toward her. They had clustered at one end of the large dining table, making for an intimate setting. Bastian, as always, led the conversation. “But your accent does not betray your heritage one bit. And you look perfectly English to my eye. A proper English rose.”
Margaret laughed. “Does His Grace look French, to your most discerning eye, Mr. Hawthorne?”
“Only when he furrows his brow, just like this,” Bastian said, pointing at the crease he had forced between his eyebrows. “Then he looks distinctly French to me.”
“What furrow?” Alexander protested, relaxing somewhat when Margaret laughed again. He knew his face intimately and had never seen the wrinkle with his own eyes. “Your opinions are baseless. You do not know the first thing about the French. Much like Miss Bell, you have scarcely left your hometown.”
“I was in London just now, was I not?” Bastian shrugged, taking another gulp of wine. “That is a different place than Salisbury.”
“Yes, you were in London.” Alexander leaned forward, curious. “Now you are here, having come without even a note to herald your arrival. I take it you saw no need to remain in London town while Dickie Dawson-Duff led his clan northward without you. But you have yet to explain why you are taking up roost here with us, rather than with your mother in Laverstock, or better yet, your brother in Salisbury.”
“Mother reviles sharing her house. Yes, even with her own sons.” Bastian spoke as if this were a trivial thing, but Alexander knew his mother’s antics cut deep. “And my dear brother is busy hosting his sister-in-law and her wretched band of children. There would not be room for me even if I did want to stay with them, which I do not. But say no more, Your Grace. I see that I am not welcome here.”
“You are giving Edmund Kean a run for his money,” Margaret protested, laughing. “And so are you,” she said to Alexander. “I can tell that you are the dearest friends. Of course, you should remain, Mr. Hawthorne.”
“Only if you insist, Your Grace,” Bastian replied magnanimously. “I could not deny a woman as lovely as you a thing.”
Alexander might have been jealous if Margaret showed any sign of taking Bastian seriously. She instead waved the compliment off, and his heart unclenched.
“You are too kind. But really, the more the merrier here in Wiltshire,” Margaret said. The footman returned with the dessert course as she continued. "There is so much I wish to do now that we have set anchor, and the two of you men know Salisbury much better than I do. But perhaps you have something in particular you would like to see, Miss Bell? Do you like walking or riding? There are so many magnificent paths nearby. What are your favorite pastimes?”
The question seemed to shock Isadore. She glanced away, thinking, and Alexander thought he understood why. A woman in Isadore’s position did not have time for leisure.
“I enjoy walking,” she said meekly. “But that is all I can think of for now.”
“Do you like music?” Bastian asked.
