Page 17 of The Lover's Eye
He had interjected in time to spare himself hearing the name spoken, but it swam in his head instead.Aurelia.
She had been different from Miss Ridgeway, but more than that, Aurelia Gouldsmith had been different fromhim.All her strengths countered Giles’s weaknesses: an articulate ray of sun in social settings; a strong voice with unwavering opinions; a decisive mind that didn’t bow from a challenge.
Giles sometimes wondered what the devil their marriage would’ve looked like, but mostly, his thoughts about Aurelia had settled into ones of regret.He’d never realized at the time that there was something admirable in her boldness; that he had been intimidated by it.She wouldn’t want all of society pitying her—or him, either.And yet, Giles did.She had deserved much better.
Pemberton shrugged, finishing off the contents of his glass.“Lord Ridgeway’s a crotchety old fellow.A man of your worth he might consider, but there’s no telling with these old ones, set in their ways as they are.”
The men passed into a moment’s silence.The nature of their conversation had put a damper on Giles’s mood; it was usually his place to counteract the marquess’s irritable disposition.
The sound of Pemberton’s enameled snuffbox opening broke the silence.“I do recall when that curmudgeon accepted my offer for Marriane, he said he was glad that ‘the business over his daughters had been hammered out’.Said he was out of the game, or some other such nonsense.I got the impression he was glad to be done fooling with suitors such as myself.”
Giles eyed the mantel clock, suddenly restless in his skin.“Right.”
♦
As Isobel followed the footman upstairs, she expected to be taken to her sister’s bedchamber.Her pulse increased now that she was here, about to face an unknown version of Marriane.She was preparing herself for the worst.A pallid face, a bony figure, a rasping cough or recently broken fever.
Therefore, when the footman directed her into a lavish, stuffy drawing room, Isobel could not hide her shock.She hesitated where she stood, her mouth opening to question Marriane’s whereabouts, when a blur caught her eye.
Moving toward her in gliding strides was her sister.Her long arms were outstretched and her gloss of black curls held up by pearl-tipped pins.“Isobel!”She wrapped her arms around her sister and squeezed.
The spicy scent of bandoline swept over Isobel as her sister’s hair collided with her face.“Why, what are you doing up?”Isobel asked, her words ill-spaced and confused.
Marriane pulled back, still holding fast to her hands.“Whatever do you mean?Of course I’m up.I would have been waiting by the door, had I known when you’d arrive.”
The bright blue cotton gown was meant to lend life to Marriane’s drawn body, but only washed out her complexion further.She was smiling at Isobel—a wide smile, desperate in its own way—and her brown eyes were flat, void of the feeling feigned in her voice.She was wispy thin, but even still, her gown accentuated a fraction of the rolling curves she was lauded for.
“I am glad to see you up, of course, but I can tell you are not well, Marriane.”Isobel had assessed her sister’s condition at once, no detail small enough to escape her notice.The jitters of fear built, rather than abated.These changes were borne of a long form illness, not some trifling cold.
Marriane dropped her hands, and her smile fell to an even line.“I wrote to you yesterday.Did you not receive it?Martin gave you a fright by writing to you.An unnecessary fright.”
Isobel raised a hand to her sister’s face, and swiped at the pinkened cheek with her thumb.Marriane reached up a hand to smack Isobel’s away, but it was too late.Isobel rubbed her fingers together, feeling the texture of a decadent, creamy rouge.
“You do not fool me.Youcannotfool me,” she said.“I expect you wasted half the pot attempting to add color to your face, and your dress is divine, but I can see plainly that you aren’t well.”
Marriane swallowed.She peered around her sister and dismissed the waiting footman with a flick of her hand.When she spoke, her voice was level, its pitch deeper.“Whatever interrogation you have planned for me must wait, Isobel.We will have time enough to talk as sisters.”
Isobel opened her mouth to speak, but Marriane was already moving away and toward the windows.She peered down at the courtyard, uttering a little gasp.“Did Trevelyan bring you in his own carriage?”
Isobel pressed her lips together and dipped her chin.She knew how unwise it was to entertain her attraction toward Giles, but he was making it terribly difficult.Marriane must have read as much in her face.
“I confess, I could not have arranged a better meeting for all the world!”she exclaimed, keeping her voice to a low volume.She skipped back to Isobel’s side and hooked their arms together.“We are wasting precious time.Let us go see him and my dear Martin.”
“But he mentioned some ‘matter of business’,” Isobel protested, even as her sister dragged her down the stairs.
“Er, I hate to tell you dear, but that is what all gentlemen say when they wish to be alone and bet on horses and drink brandy and discuss dowries.I will be able to tell at once if they have been discussingyours.”
Isobel could not fight the laugh that sprang up.The prospect of interrupting Pemberton and Trevelyan seemed to bring Marriane to life more than anything else thus far, so she complied with the idea.
But when the ladies tripped up to the door of the marquess’s study, they found it open.Marriane separated herself from her sister and stepped tentatively in.Only Lord Pemberton was inside, his frivolously tasseled Hessians slung up on the desk.Light from a nearby window caught the boots’ black sheen, casting it in the direction of Isobel’s eyes.
Good God.She could only imagine the derisive epithets her father would assign such a sight.
“Is Trevelyan gone already?”Marriane asked.
Pemberton was perusing some paper, and put up a stubby finger.Isobel stiffened at his manner, but her sister seemed unaffected.Several seconds passed before the marquess lowered the sheet from his face.Isobel had been watching him all the while, and if his eyes had moved to absorb any real information, she had not seen it.
“Yes,” he said.
