Page 88 of The Lover's Eye
Isobel could not keep a smirk from pricking her lips.Giles often noted he had little use for the central hall, despite it being the most exquisite space in the house, and that had given Isobel the idea of hosting her luncheon there.
A long table had been moved into the space, and little vases of flowers clipped fresh from the gardens lined it.The first tulips and greenery, along with bluebells and crocus, lent their bright, tangy scent to the space.
The massive arches allowed the group to float in as one, rather than file in in the traditional manner.Isobel surveyed the scene with great pleasure, her eyes drifting over to gauge her guests’ reactions.She thought them awestruck when their mouths gaped.
Mrs.Heppel was the first to speak.“Oh,” she said, her voice like a wind gust.“Oh, my.”
Two of the women exchanged low whispers, and one pretended to adjust her necklace.Even Marriane did not smile.
“I thought we could dine here, since the hall is so little used,” Isobel announced, smiling overbright.She gestured upward, adding, “It is a fine day outside, so there will be no draft.”
The sun was aligned with the glass paned ceiling, bearing down to lend golden light and warmth over the table setting.The expanse of portraits and murals looked ethereal stretching high overhead.
The ladies took their seats quietly, speaking only once they were settled.Mr.Finch, with the help of other servants, busied about the sideboard that had been brought in.
“It is such a lovely space,” said one woman, who Isobel remembered was called Mrs.Herron.Her dark eyes hovered over the polished tea service before them.“What was your … inspiration, if I might ask?”
“This room is often disused, but Giles and I love it so.The cuttings are all fresh from the gardens here.”
Isobel was beginning to wishshewas in the gardens.A strange panic was seizing her, putting pressure on her breastbone and making it difficult to breathe.She suddenly questioned her sister’s advice to pretend, for she had never felt more like herself than she did just now—small, strange, and other.
The exceedingly tall woman beside Mrs.Herron broke into a catlike grin.“Yes, I have heard from one lady before that the earl has an affinity for this room.It is such anintimatespace, after all.”
Isobel could only keep grinning at her, unable to guess the source of her humor.Trays of sandwiches, sweetcakes, dried fruits and nuts were distributed to the guests.
“Now then, when did you and Lord Trevelyan meet?”asked Mrs.Heppel.
“When I was here to visit my sister in January,” Isobel said.She was sure the sandwich tasted delicious, but she could hardly muster a bite.
“I heard your coach got stuck outside of the lodge gates, and Lord Trevelyan was so kind as to let you stay here,” Mrs.Herron said with a meaningful smirk.
Isobel felt herself coloring up.She had hoped to avoid indulging that detail, knowing how improper it sounded when repeated—even more so now that they’d married hastily.“Yes,” she said, “unfortunately it was impossible for our coach to pass.Giles was very kind.”
“Now that is what I call luck!”exclaimed the tall woman.“Becoming stranded outside of a fine bachelor’s house.And you are certainly glowing with health, not unlike some other young mothers—pardon me, youngbridesI have known.”
Mrs.Herron gave the woman a swift elbow.“You must forgive Miss Armstrong, Lady Trevelyan.She is quiet the jester, I’m afraid.”
Mercifully for Isobel, the conversation drifted to local happenings, and advice on the best modistes and milliners in nearby Newcastle.Giles waited tactfully to appear when there was a lull in conversation.
Isobel’s nearly empty stomach constricted with apprehension when the women fawned over him before her eyes.Miss Armstrong, in particular, looked the most pleasant she had all afternoon.It was difficult to discern the young woman’s age.She wore the overly decorated pink gown of a debutante, but Isobel felt the drape of Miss Armstrong’s skin suggested she was older than herself.
“I feel I must offer my deepest condolences, alongside my congratulations to you, Lord Trevelyan,” Mrs.Heppel said.“It is a wretched business, what you and my dear husband have been involved in these past weeks.”
Isobel knew Mr.Heppel was the local magistrate, the man who had come the night of her wedding to inform Giles about the discovery of Aurelia’s body.But her features remained unmoved; her cheeks aching painfully from smiling for so damned long.
“Thank you, Mrs.Heppel,” Giles said with a fraction of a bow.
“Your Lady Trevelyan is lovely,” Mrs.Herron said, “I am sure she is a great comfort to you.”
Giles’s foot tapped a little before he drew it straight under himself.“Yes, I am most fortunate.If you ladies will excuse me, I have some business to attend to.”
A flurry of farewells arose from around the table, and Mr.Finch arrived with fresh hot water for the tea.Isobel had gotten through the first pouring without issue and was happy to reach for the black and gilt pot now.The task made her feel more like a hostess than the foolish words that had been coming out of her mouth, and gave her hands ample distraction.
As Isobel filled the lady’s cup beside her, Miss Armstrong asked a question in her high, insolent tone.“Forgive my impertinence,” she said, “but what pet name has Lord Trevelyan assigned to you?I’m simply dying of curiosity.”
Isobel’s hands began to shake.What sort of question was that?She could formulate no answer, pretending to tend to the teacup with extra diligence.
“What a peculiar question to ask, child,” Mrs.Heppel said reproachfully.
