“Well”—Isabella stopped at a sketch of a lady draped across a low bed, her head dangling off, her mouth open on a cry as a man knelt between her legs—“I can certainly see why it was destroyed. Quitethe scandal.”
“Not destroyed entirely, my dear.” Lady Templeton had been their mother’s closest friend, and she remained a steadfast friend of their own even now. “Copies of the original sketches still float around.I Modiis infamous in Italy. For those in the know. Thankfully, dear Thurston is in the know. Who knew he was so good at sketching? These are his copies.” Thurston, Viscount Helston was Lady Templeton’s son, an obstinately unmarried fellow to the absolute despair of his mostly doting mother.
Imogen slipped the notebook out of Isabella’s hands to take another look. “Truly? He did these? Hm.”
“I’m just as surprised,” Lady Templeton admitted. “Apparently, he possesses some talent. If only it were something he could advertise.”
Thurston’s talent surprised Isabella less than the fact she had not known about it. Then again, she’d never consciously hunted after information on Thurston. Perhaps she should have. It might have helped Lady Templeton in some way, could still do so. What if his drawing got him in trouble in some way? Lady Templeton would want to know, to keep her son safe.
“Does he know you have these?” Lottie, the oldest of the Merriweather sisters, sat prim and straight in her chair, her blue eyes bright and cunning.
Lady Templeton laughed. “Not at all. I’ll have to return them before he discovers they’re missing.”
“Do not worry.” Andromeda, the second eldest sister, reached over to pat the older woman’s hand. “We have a new book to occupy your mind. We knew you’d be home from Italy soon, so we saved it for you.” She reached behind a pillow budged between her and the coach arm, freeing a small, brown leather book. She handed it to the marchioness.
“Do read it quickly!” Felicity had been introduced to their mother’s books during her first Season, had promised secrecy, and had taken to the books like a fish to water. She beamed now. “I must discuss the horse-riding scene with you. I found it so verynovel. Oh.” Her light dimmed a little. “Should I not have said anything about the scene? Have I spoiled it for you?”
“Not a bit.” Lady Templeton nodded. “I do enjoy it when two hearts share a horse. Though I suspect the horse does not. Leavehorses for the time being. Where are yourbabies? I must have a tiny bundle to dandle on my knee this instant. I demand it.”
“The men have them in the nursery,” Lottie said. “Three men, one nurse, five children under five, and Trudy and June.” Their youngest sisters were not yet out, though at seventeen, Gertrude soon would be. “The men are thoroughly outnumbered.”
“Such good papas.” Lady Templeton sighed. “I will never have grandchildren. Thurston will never marry.”
Isabella leaned close to Imogen and whispered, “Why would he marry when he can have two mistresses. At the same time.” That she did know about Thurston.
Imogen’s mouth dropped open for a breath, then snapped shut. “At the same time and in the same place? Or… different places, do you suppose?”
“Different places.”
“Where did you hear that?”
“At Almack’s last week.”
“Fascinating.
“Where is your brother, then,” Lady Templeton asked. Quite the efficient change of subject. “Where is the duke?”
“In his study,” Andromeda said. “He has a visitor.”
“Is he close to choosing a bride?”
Isabella leaned forward and snagged a scone from a tray. “I think so. It must be Lady Margaret. Miss Haws thoroughly embarrassed herself in the park yesterday. Besides, I’ve heard not even a whisper of gossip about Lady M. Nothing questionable about her family, either.” Her father had a love for horses, but he never overspent. He treated the servants at the Hestia well, too. Always ignored, never ranted. Couldn’t ask for more, frankly. After her observations at the Hestia, she was convinced he would make a fine father-in-law for Samuel.
They were to be her last observations, however. Her gut tied in knots, and she placed the scone aside. Who did that horrid man think he was? He could not bully her into making poor decisions. She made enough of her own without him. And she could gather information without his blasted hotel.
“I do not think”—Imogen pulled at a curl at the nape of her neckas she always did when cogitating—“we can judge anyone for gossip. Or scandal, frankly. We’ve courted both since… well… forever.”
“True,” Lady Templeton said, “but we’ve also worked hard to scrub any rumor away from your reputations and to save you from further danger. If your brother must marry a woman with a scandal in her wardrobe, at least let her have the sense to use a key to lock it up tight.”
Scandal was more difficult to hide than most supposed. Isabella knew that well. Few could keep secrets from her because she hid where no one looked and kept her ears open when others flapped their lips.
“Is Lady Margaret the sort who”—Lady Templeton tapped the side of her teacup—“enjoys reading, do you suppose?”
“We could never invite her to read with us,” Andromeda said. “We’d have to ask her to keep our reading material secret from Samuel, and I cannot imagine hiding something like that from Tristan. I would not ask it of another woman.”
“Yes, but you are in love with your husband,” Prudence said. “We all love our husbands, but… I rather doubt there is much love between Samuel and Lady Margaret.”
Silence felt like a heavy, velvet blanket, smothering the room, extinguishing their joy.
