Isadore was pale in the sunlight, her hands clutching her coat as though to ward off something colder than the wind. Alexander hated himself for his next thought—hated his uncle for planting the seed of doubt in his mind. Had Isadore tripped on a lie?
“I must admit,” he said carefully, “your French accent is nearly gone when you pronounce the word. Caen, I mean. That surprises me.”
Her nose wrinkled faintly. “Well, I worked hard to rid myself of it. That accent reminded of a past I preferred to forget.Mais nous pouvons parlez Français si cela vous plait,Your Grace.A moins que vous ne parliez pas la langue de notre mère, bien entendu.”
She is teasing me,Alexander thought.Suggesting we can speak in French, unless I, unlike her, have neglected to learn our mother’s native tongue.
Alexander was bested. “I know enough French to know what you said. I have no desire to test you or to practice my language skills with you on the day. Your fluency in both languages is impressive. Let us leave it at that.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.” Her gaze darted to the floor. “But if there are things you wish to know, you can always ask me. I will answer as honestly as I can. I am trying to be forthright with you, to give you what you want from me. If I seem reluctant, or rude... It is only because I am afraid of disappointing you.”
A cold weight settled in his stomach, a symptom of his shame. He thought for a moment, then asked, “Most of all, I must know what you desire for yourself. Is it your wish to remain Miss Isadore Bell? And if so, for how long?”
“That depends,” she replied. “Do you wish for me to become Isadore Somerton?”
He did not know whether that was his wish, nor did he knowwhyit was. It should have been the obvious choice to accept Isadore as she was. Margaret and Bastian had endorsed her. Alexander had faith in Mr. Ripley’s investigative skills. He had seen her birth announcement, had heard her story...
But an uncertain silence settled between them in the absence of an answer.
Mercifully, a familiar voice called out, “There you are!” Bastian marched into the aisle, pulling on his gloves. Alexander stepped back, grateful for the interruption.
“Ruddy cold out here, isn’t it? I told Mrs. Abernathy I would retrieve you before she hunted you down herself,” he said to Isadore. “She plans to lead a tour round the cathedral.Assuming, of course, that you are still interested in those friezes.”
“Oh, definitely interested.” Isadore gave a tight smile and turned to Alexander. “Thank you for speaking with me, Your Grace.”
He nodded, having no desire to say anything more.
“Your duchess is over there,” Bastian said to Alexander, jerking his head toward the far side of the cathedral. “Chatting with Lady Jane about... Oh, Lord, who knows? I simply thought you might be looking for her.”
Alexander thanked him as he disappeared with Isadore down the cloister. He turned, heading in the vague direction of Margaret, the echo of his sister’s voice still ringing oddly in his ears.
Behind a hedge of early-flowering blackthorns, Margaret had clustered herself with Lady Jane and another young woman. Alexander had seen the young lady before at the Salisbury Assembly Rooms and her wedding, and believed her to be Miss Helena Talbot. However, Margaret had so many friends that it was difficult to differentiate them. For her part, Margaret looked exasperated as she turned from Lady Jane, eyes widening when she saw Alexander. She whispered a word to her companions, and soon they both turned too.
“Your Grace,” Lady Jane said, curtsying and forcing the younger woman down into a curtsy as well. “You will have to excuse MissTalbot and me for stealing Her Grace after the concert. Was the choir not so lovely?”
“Quite.” Alexander fixed Margaret, wondering what they had been discussing. She looked no more inclined to talk with him than she had earlier. “I wondered where you had gone.”
“Not so far as to cause you any worry," Margaret said. “But if I did cause worry, I am sorry. I made a quick exit when I saw Lady Dudley approaching you earlier.”
“For that, you cannot be blamed,” he replied. “She is a ruthless negotiator.”
Lady Jane nodded. “Negotiated me out a rather substantial donation, too. There is nothing Christian about that! Where in the Bible did Christ ask for twenty guineas before healing the blind? The woman should be ashamed of herself...”
Margaret laughed under her breath. “Regardless, I did not want to intrude.”
"Mr. Hawthorne and Miss Bell have joined a tour of the cathedral,” Alexander said. “So it appears we must remain a while more.”
“Then might I use this opportunity to thank you, Your Grace? Not only for saving Margaret the night of the storm, but also for making a bride of her. When she was here last, I failed most terribly in my duties to protect her, as her hostess. Thateverything should have sorted itself out so tremendously has lifted a great weight from my shoulders, it must be said.”
“It mustnotbe said,” Margaret argued. “You have never failed me and never will. These are the results of my own actions.” She looked up at Alexander, her brown eyes softening for the first time that morning. “And for better or for worse, I am happy.”
Alexander fought a smile, then inclined toward Lady Jane. “Your devotion to Margaret is admirable. But like Margaret, I feel there is no need to thank me.”
“Still...” Lady Jane’s cheeks flushed with more than the cold. “If you will allow it, I would not retract my thanks. That would be unheard of, though I am relieved that you are not cross with me. I was just telling Margaret?—”
“What you were just telling Margaret does not need to be repeated to His Grace,” Miss Talbot interrupted, and Margaret looked thankful. “His Grace already knows you are not to blame—Margaret just said so.”
“For our appearance in the scandal sheets, you mean?” Alexander guessed. “That’s what you’re implying, isn’t it?”
