Her mouth screwed to the side. “Yes, yes, I do. Imogen’s engagement, the letter… it’s a bit much. Perhaps you should speak with Samuel after… after everything. We cannot wait too long, though.” For a brief instant, her hands fluttered at her belly.
She could be carrying his child.
He wanted to scream his jubilation to the skies, and he wanted to find the nearest crack in the earth and walk straight down to the bowels of Hell. Legs feeling like mud, he walked to her side and placed a kiss on her forehead.
“Hopefully, all will be over after the ball. Then, yes?”
“Yes.”
He allowed his hand to settle at her waist. “And when… when will you know if…” He swallowed a knot in his throat and swallowed the wordsif you are with child,too.
“Soon, actually, I should think. I’ll let you know as soon as I do.”
“Good.”
The door across the street opened, and a head very much like Isabella’s poked out. “We can all see you,” the head cried out. “But don’t worry, Samuel’s not here, and Aunt Millie is dozing on the settee.”
Isabella laughed and pecked his cheek. “I’ll tell you. I won’t be able to come much to the Hestia. The ball is so soon, and we’ll be helping Lottie and finalizing our gowns and—”
“Do as you must. I’ll be busy with the Blue Sheep.”
“I’ll find time to slip away.”
He tried to smile, nodded. Then she darted away, and soon that great big bloody house swallowed her up.
This was the beginning of them.
Why did it feel like the end?
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Are you sure?” Lottie paced across their mother’s private sitting room, scowling. “I do not like the idea of your suddenly marrying a man I’ve never met.”
“But we should have met him,” Isabella insisted. It was another bit of information she should have had long ago. Not knowing might have resulted in never meeting Rowan. She shivered. All secrets behind them now, though. They could move forward hand in hand.
Annie stopped Lottie’s pacing and pulled her down to the sofa. “Mrs. Garrison trusts him. The admiral trusts him. They consider him a son.”
“Then why has he not come around before?”
Because titles spooked him like a loud noise spooked a horse. But Isabella hadn’t told them that. No use putting walls up between them all before they even met him. “Mr. Trent does not blossom in social situations. He prefers work to conversation.” Isabella pushed off the old wardrobe where she’d been leaning. “Forget Rowan, though. Tonight, after the Haws arrive, I will sneak out of the ball to search their rooms once more.” And perhaps tomorrow morning, Samuel would be safe, and Rowan would be able to speak to him about ahappier betrothal. “Lottie, is there anything left to do to prepare for the guests’ arrival?”
“Nothing. The doors are flung open, the roses exploding absolutely everywhere. There are even petals floating in the punch.” She’d gone with a wild garden theme, and they each were dressed like a flower. Lottie was a rose in a deep-red gown with emeralds at her neck. Andromeda wore bright yellow like a sunflower. Prudence had decided to be a pink peony, Imogen a daisy wearing white with yellow diamonds at her wrist. Felicity was a violet with several secured tightly in her hair.
Isabella had gone in search of a book on Irish flowers, had discovered the prettiest wild rose with petals fading from white to pink with a yellow center. She’d done that weeks ago, before she’d discovered her heart beat for Rowan. Telling, that. Her fashion choices had known before she had. She wore a white gown with a thin white overlay. The bottom of the skirts had been dipped in dye so that pink rushed up them, fading into white. She wore a pendant necklace with a single yellow sapphire dangling at its end. Pink and white and yellow—an Irish rose for a man who loved Irish stories.
“We should line up to greet my guests,” Lottie said, charting a brisk path for the door. The others filed out behind her—Annie, Imogen, Prudence, and Felicity, pretty as flowers but drooping. Heavy clouds gathered overhead, after all.
Isabella trailed them into the hallway, jumping as Gertrude ran around the corner, sliding in her stockinged feet on the marble floor. At seventeen, Gertrude had not yet made her debut. Their mother had believed in waiting a bit longer before forcing a girl to become a wife, and they had remained true to her wishes.
“Let me dance once,” Gertrude pleaded. “Please!”
Lottie hugged her. “You may watch from the balcony with June.”
“But Alex is allowed to attend tonight.” Her eyes blazed with injustice. The Earl of Avelford, Annie’s young brother-in-law, could always poke Gertrude’s rage into an inferno.
Annie wrapped her arm around Gertrude’s waist. “He’s an earl, and he must begin to show himself as a respectable gentleman before he sits in the House of Lords. Trust me. He is not anticipating it. He’dmuch rather be at the picnic we’ve arranged in the nursery for you and June.”
“It’s not fair.” Gertrude sagged into Annie’s embrace.
