He nodded to her with a grin. “Chewing your lip.”
She hid her mouth with her hand and laughed. “You are terrible to mention it. You are terrible to make me soil my dress too.” She hurried back to her feet and brushed off the muslin gown. “And you are terrible to answer my question with a question. Did you not teach me thus yourself?”
He stood and offered his arm again, his grin compelling and playful. “Whatever are you talking about?”
They found the footpath again and strolled back to the townhouse, the warm sunlight dampening her hairline with perspiration. Once inside, she offered him tea and would have led him into the sitting room, but a maidservant approached and handed her a letter.
“For you, Miss Gresham.”
“Thank you, Janet.”
Isabella shifted away from Mr. Kensley and undid the red seal with her thumbnail. She read over the contents of the letter, double-checked the date, then smiled. “Mr. Kensley, I believe I have the most wonderful news.”
He’d been handing the butler his beaver hat, but he turned now and glanced at her letter. “From your father?”
“Indeed. And from the date this was posted, I dare to say he shall likely arrive within three days from now.”
His face tightened and the look was back—the one she’d noticed when he first stood before her townhouse, or when his eyes had borne sadness at her dinner party. What kind of business could warrant such a powerful expression?
“Then I shall return to call upon him.” Turning, he gathered back his hat and gloves from the butler—but before he exited the door, he glanced back at her. His gaze, now devoid of laughter or teasing or merriment, pulled her in with pleading. “I ask one thing of you, Miss Gresham, and all your servants.”
“Anything you wish.”
“Do not speak my name to Lord Gresham before I arrive. That is something I should like to do myself.” He forced a smile then left.
Isabella clasped the letter to her chest. More than ever, she longed to discover what kind of business he and her father were entangled in.
Judging by Mr. Kensley’s manner, it was not business at all.
CHAPTER 5
Ialready know.” Father sat across from Isabella in the sitting room, his large frame nestled deep in the upholstered chair. Grey streaked through his black, perfectly combed hair and he clamped a meerschaum pipe between his lips. For all his trying to look cross, however, he could not quite pull it off.
Isabella was not fooled. “Are you terribly disappointed?”
“Yes. Lord Livingstone is a commendable—and wealthy—young man. I should have been most pleased to see you wed him, and besides that, he wrote me a most gentlemanly letter explaining his fault in everything.”
“But he might have ruined me!”
A chuckle broke through Father’s feigned scolding. “I should hate to think what the ladies all told their papas of me when I was young.”
“Were you quite the rogue?”
“Yes.”
“And did you artfully deceive young ladies into stealing off with you in unlit halls, that you might kiss them unawares?”
“That and far worse, I fear.”
Isabella smiled. “I wonder that Mother ever married you.”
The words were meant in jest, but Father’s lips clamped tighter about his pipe. “Such naughtiness was never spent on your mother.”
“Well, that is something we can all be grateful for.” Isabella stood and walked to the window, where she opened a drapery farther to let in more evening light. The golden rays played on the Persian rug and furniture. “But even so, I can no longer bear the thought of a courtship with Lord Livingstone. He is far too unpredictable.”
“Good heavens, child. Is predictability not the very reason you can no longer bear to court anyone else?”
“Father.” She whirled to him with a pleading look—one she’d mastered well enough to know his reaction.
