Page 7 of The Grand Mistletoe Assembly
“My lady, it would appear you are simply suffering from an excess of gas.”
The earl clutched his chest in relief. “Are you certain?”
The doctor ignored him to continue talking to the countess. “I would recommend you stay away from rich foods, and I will give you a tonic to assist with the bloating—”
“What of the babe?” The earl’s frenzied and autocratic manner was visibly annoying the practitioner, who continued to ignore him.
“—I recommend you rest tonight, but I see no reason for concern. This is quite common for a woman in your condition.”
“But—”
The countess’s gentle tones cut the earl off. “Thank you, doctor. I do confess that a craving for cheese the past few days could be the cause of my ailment. I am not accustomed to the quantity I have recently consumed.”
The doctor gave a nod of assent. “That would definitely cause it. Perhaps you could stick to broth for the next few days. Some dry toast and apples are quite beneficial for digestive complaints. Just ensure you eat sufficiently.”
Both the countess and the doctor pointedly ignored the earl as he paced back and forth in agitation. “Thank you so much for coming so quickly, doctor. I hope we did not interrupt something important?” Sophia bobbed her head at his formal evening attire.
“I was headed to the charity ball at Pearler House when your footman found me.” He pulled out a gold pocket watch to peer at the time. “There is still time to attend, I suppose.”
“Oh, I do hope so. It is such a worthy cause.”
Isabelle listened with pangs of regret causing an ache in her belly. She should be at the ball in Cameron’s arms by now. The desire to leap from her chair and insist the doctor accompany her to the ball was overpowering, and she had to grip the edge of her seat tightly to prevent herself from making an embarrassing outburst.
Her brother looked like death itself. She knew he was besotted with his wife, and it was obvious he was still recovering from the shock because he had slumped into a chair to stare at the ceiling, pale-faced, while the conversation went on without him.
While the doctor was taking his leave, and the earl and his countess had conducted a hushed discussion with the lady reassuring her husband of her good health, Isabelle realized she was an interloper. Standing, she made to leave the room.
“Isabelle, I am so sorry I ruined your evening,” the countess called from behind her.
Tears were welling in her eyes, but Isabelle blinked them back while keeping her head averted to the door. She could not reveal her scandalous interactions with Cameron Bolton by displaying untoward grief. There was no telling how the earl would react to the news of her inappropriate behavior, so she swallowed hard and steadied her voice. “I quite understand. Please rest and take care of yourself. There is nothing to be done about the ball, so do not concern yourself with it.” Isabelle was proud of how cheery her tone sounded while she headed out the door.
Cameron would be at the ball, thinking she had not bothered to attend. He must be angry by now. Soon he would forget the troublesome wench who had disappointed him, and she would not blame him for giving up on her. Inside her chest, disappointment caused Isabelle’s heart to weigh as heavy as a stone.
* * *
Cameron leaned against a column,a gaslight flickering above his head as he tapped his foot. Not in time to the music, but rather in time with his pulsing frustration to be thwarted so in his plans. He had spent a small fortune on a ticket to a ball, so he might stand about like a fool, pining after a woman he had never even properly met. And he still waited. He would wait right until supper because he still held out hope.
Isabelle was special. He might never meet such a woman again. She was beauty and grace and intelligence all wrapped up in a stunning green-eyed package, and he could not give up on her. On them.
He knew she was leaving for the country in the morning. Like an imbecile, he had not questioned her regarding where she would be staying during the holiday season nor the successive months. The only thing he knew for certain is that he could find her after Easter when the new Season began.But by then she might be married to some wonderful young man she met during the holidays.
Cameron clenched his jaw.
If only Brendan Ridley had shown up. He was sure his friend could have assisted him, but the reprobate was likely in the arms of a wicked widow these past days. If he could find the rogue, perhaps Ridley could offer a suggestion but, for all Cameron knew, he could be leaving Town for the country, too.
His pulse pounded in his ears, his turmoil having magnified over the past hours.
As if to mock him, he saw a server balancing a heavy platter, indicating it was nearly time for supper. Checking his pocket watch yet again, he confirmed that indeed, that time was quickly approaching.
A loud clatter jolted his attention back to the server. The silver platter was on the floor while the contents drenched the once deep orange skirts of a young woman standing with Corinthian John, the former prizefighting champion. Cameron gaped, momentarily forgetting his own problems to commiserate with the woman and the agonized footman as the crowd turned to stare.
His first impulse was to rush over to her and offer his help, but he observed how Corinthian John took charge and squashed the impulse to insert himself.
And that is my cue to leave.
There was nothing left for him to do. The woman he desired had not arrived, and the evening, at least for him, was over.
Cameron battled to draw breath into his constricted lungs to relieve the weight that had settled upon him. Fresh air and a walk would clear his thoughts. He might not know how to find Isabelle’s family now that they were departing for the country, but the evening was just beginning for the gentlemen attending clubs. He would search for Ridley in every corner and crevice of London, pester the man’s family butler again, or find someone else who could tell him where the earl’s household would be headed when morning came.
