Leo scowled and broke up the little clusters, keeping both girls on the move.
Guardian? More like a blasted sheepdog!
“You look rather grim,” Isobel said, rejoining him after stopping to chat with a small group of ladies and gentlemen. “Why? Can it be that you’re not enjoying yourself?” Her eyes twinkled up at him.
“On the contrary, I’m finding it delightful. Social chitchat with relative strangers—how could anyone fail to enjoy never-ending meaningless exchanges?” He bared his teeth in a mirthless smile and she laughed.
“But all the ladies have been soooo delighted to see you here,” she pointed out. “Aren’t you flattered by all the attention you’ve been getting?”
He gave her a mock-baleful look. “Emptying the butter boat, Miss Isobel?” Again she laughed, and again he got that warm feeling in his chest.
As for the toad-eating he’d been subjected to, he loathed the unsubtle attentions of some of the ladies withmarriageable daughters. Flattery always caused him to poker up. He had no way of dealing with it.
What was he to do? Agree that yes, he was indeed the handsomest man in London? Or point out that actually he was quite ordinary—which was the truth, but would only cause the flatterers to laugh gaily and proceed to smother him with more outrageous compliments. Ghastly stuff.
He glanced at Clarissa and Betty walking ahead, their arms linked. It attracted several disapproving glances, he noticed. None of the other young ladies here linked arms with their maid or governess. “You and your sister should not link arms with your maid.”
Isobel immediately stiffened. “Why not? We like Betty. We’ve known her since we were children together.”
“Yes, I noticed you gave her your new red pelisse—and no, I have no objection to your giving her clothes,” he added as she opened her mouth to argue. “But it’s not appropriate to treat her like a friend in public.” Leo knew he sounded stuffy. For himself he couldn’t care less, but it was his responsibility to care for them, and part of that responsibility was to ensure that they did not attract censure from society. At least for now.
“But she’s our friend as well as our maid.”
“Then keep your displays of friendship private. Unless you wish to attract public disapproval.”
She scowled, dropped his arm and stalked off to join Clarissa and the maid. She glanced back and pointedly linked arms with the maid. He wanted to laugh—she was nothing if not predictable. Loyalty was bred into her through and through. As was defiance.
Lord, but he loathed being in this position that forced his interactions with Isobel to be more like a stern schoolmaster with a pupil than a man with a woman. A woman he found fascinating, though as her purported guardian, he should not.
But she and Clarissa, whether they acknowledged it or not, were in a delicate situation and could not afford to attract unwelcome interest.
When they returned to Bellaire Gardens, Leo entered his aunt’s house with the young ladies and told Treadwell that he wished to speak with his aunt, that he had something of importance to discuss with her.
Isobel eyed him suspiciously. “What do you want to speak to her about?”
“Izzy,” her sister murmured repressively.
“No, I want to know.”
Shaking her head, Clarissa went upstairs.
Leo went into the blue saloon to await his aunt. Isobel followed him in. “Well? Is this about Betty? You’re not going to dismiss her, are you?”
“It’s not about Betty, at least not directly—and no, I’m not going to dismiss her. I’m going to hire a proper chaperone for you and your sister.”
“A proper chaperone?” Isobel’s green eyes narrowed to cat slits. “Who?”
“I haven’t yet decided. I’m thinking an older woman might be suitable, someone with experience of society—perhaps a widow in her fourth or fifth decade, a woman with no other charges on her time. That’s what I’m going to talk to my aunt about.”
She folded her arms tightly beneath her bosom, her expression mutinous. “Why do we need some old lady to watch over us? Don’t you trust us?”
Leo wasn’t going near that one. “It’s convention,” he said mildly. “As Clarissa’s guardian, I am responsible for ensuring that not a breath of scandal attaches to her name.” He gave her a meaningful look, and she had the grace to flush slightly. She knew what he meant.
“There’s no danger of that—Clarissa is always perfectly behaved,” she said. “So this is about me, then. About”—she flushed—“the other night.” When they’d kissed.
Her blush was enchanting. His whole body tightened.
“No,” he said. “It’s not about either of you in particular. It’s simply a societal convention that must be respected.”
