Page 8 of A Night of Forever
“He owns diamond mines in Brazil,” Victoria continued. “Since the diamond mines in India are all but extinct, Brazil is now the only major supplier of diamonds. They can virtually name their price. I imagine any engagement ring he bestows on a fiancée would be dazzling. Imagine it.”
Isobel could imagine it. In fact, she had to stop herself from holding her arm out to gaze at her ring finger.
Repressing a sigh, she turned to Victoria. “Then why have so few matchmaking mamas pursued him for their daughters?”
“Need you ask, my dear?” Victoria lifted a well-shaped brow. “His rakish reputation and his French blood. But”—and Victoria’s sigh held a note of wistfulness under its impatience—“imagine having all that virile masculinity in bed with you.”
“Really, Victoria!” She felt her cheeks heat.
Victoria smiled a catlike smile. “Of course you can’t imagine, being a virginal miss. But oh, I suspect being his wife would be filled with indescribable pleasure.”
The way Victoria purred the word “pleasure” made Isobel want to slap her. “I suspect he would not be in his wife’s bed very often, given the number of women vying for his attentions. He’s not known for refusing many offers.”
Victoria laughed gaily. “All men have mistresses—paramours, lovers—outside of marriage. Men are base creatures, animals that can’t help but fornicate. It’s expected of them. If you do not understand this particular reality of life, then when you marry you’ll suffer badly.”
Had Victoria been distressed by the knowledge that her husband had a mistress and kept her in a cottage on the estate? Was that why she’d decided to kill him? If she had killed him.
“Surely,” Isobel said, thinking of the Duke of Lyttleton’s love for Marisa, “a man in love would never stray.” She could not imagine him ever hurting Marisa that way. He would lay down his life for her. He’d never cheat.
“Love is an illusion.” Victoria’s eyes hardened to tiny pinpricks. “Men profess love when it suits them—usually to get a woman into bed. Once the desire, need, or want is appeased, love disappears as quickly as a lovestruck girl’s virginity.” She gave Isobel a tight smile. “Lord Labourd is no different from any man in this regard. As long as a wife understands and accepts such behavior from her husband, she will have a much happier existence.”
Isobel again wondered if Victoria spoke from experience. If so, why was she suggesting Lord Labourd as a suitable husband for her?
“I hope Cassandra’s mother is not having a fit of the vapors,” Isobel said. “She would definitely not see this as an opportunity for her daughter.”
“Good,” Victoria said immediately. “Less competition for you. You want a husband. Lord Labourd is looking for a wife.” She waved one hand as if to say the situation was entirely in Isobel’s control.
“What do you suggest I should do? Walk up to him and say ‘I’ll marry you’?” she said, more than a suspicion of bite in her tone.
Victoria didn’t seem to be offended. “I thought something a little more subtle. Men do love a good chase.”
Subtle, perhaps. Deceitful, no. Isobel intended to make a good marriage, one entered into honestly and with a clear conscience. A marriage based on dishonesty and games of intrigue would not survive. “I must go and help Cassandra.”
Victoria shrugged her shoulders. “What is there to do? Lord Labourd’s attentions can only elevate Cassandra’s position as one of the most popular debutantes this season. If a renowned rake has decided to marry and seeks her out…Well, there is no way her mother would let society see any other tale.”
That was true. Cassandra’s mother, one of the leading hostesses, was a force to be reckoned with. All the same, Isobel couldn’t shake a sense of guilt. “I feel I owe her an apology.”
“If what you say is true, and Lord Labourd had really wanted to dance with you, I suspect that you are the one owed an apology.”
At Isobel’s obvious surprise, Victoria continued, “You see, I happened to mention to Lord Labourd what a fine wife you would make. In particular, I remarked upon your sizable inheritance, and pointed out how nice it would be to marry a woman who didn’t need his money.”
Disappointment sank into Isobel’s soul. If Lord Labourd was seriously considering marriage, she wished she had accepted his offer to dance.
Then the image of Victoria’s fingers touching him intimately returned to taunt her. She did not trust Victoria and she certainly didn’t trust Lord Labourd. He was a rake. Rakes tended not to make good husbands. But he might make an excellent partner in her plan. If she could only convince him. Or had a chance to convince him.
“I may even,” Victoria said, in a playfully mocking tone, “have suggested he ask you to dance.”
Something did not add up. If Labourd were Victoria’s lover, why would she suggest Isobel as a potential wife? It was a puzzle she did not have time to pursue.
She had promised to visit with Lady Evangeline, and take her son, Sealey, for a walk in Hyde Park. If she did not hurry she would be late, for now she would not feel happy until she had seen for herself that Cassandra was weathering the storm.
She swallowed the last of her tea and made to rise from her chair.
“Where are you off to in such a hurry?” Victoria asked, patting her lips with her napkin before placing it, neatly folded, back on the table.
“I promised Lady Evangeline that I would take Sealey to the park. There is no need for me to take a chaperone. Since Evangeline was shot outside Lord Fullerton’s house, she and the boy are well guarded at all times by at least ten Bow Street Runners.”
The slight crease between Victoria’s brows deepened. “Isn’t it a little early for a walk?”
