Page 15 of The Lover's Eye
“What can they mean?”Isobel asked, not loosening her grip on the chair.
“She was never found, Miss Gouldsmith weren’t.They say she come here one night, alone.She went into the library with the earl, just the two of ’em, and after she left, she were never seen again.”
These details would have been easier to bear before.Before Isobel knew Lord Trevelyan, experienced the quiet comfort of his library and admired the books shelved within it.Before she indulged in his company and memorized the feel of his arms around her.Her stomach twisted into a stiff knot.“If she only disappeared, why does everyone think she’s dead?Why don’t they think she ran off?”
“I couldn’t say.Seems everyone that knew her knew she wouldn’t just up and leave.After all, what kind of girl, and we’re talking of a vicar’s girl, for all that, would up and run away from an earl who’s to marry her?”
“What do you mean to say?You think the earl a dangerous man?”
“I don’t mean to say that, miss.”Betsey waved a hand, the flush of embarrassment working up her neck.
She had done just what Isobel had wanted her to: forgotten her place and divulged the full contents of the belowstairs gossip.At least, that’s what Isobel hadthoughtshe wanted her to do.Now, she could no longer be sure.
The lady’s maid was helping Isobel into a white chemisette with a high, ruffling collar.“This ought to keep you warm,” she said quietly.
“If you do not think Lord Trevelyan dangerous, and if his—if that Miss Gouldsmith did run off, what trouble can you have with him then?Surely a man is not beholden to a woman who breaks off her engagement.”
“That’s just it, miss,” Betsey said.“By all accounts she did not break off their engagement.If Miss Gouldsmith ain’t dead, the earl is still promised to her.”
♦
Giles’s heart beat with dense urgency as he took breakfast with Miss Ridgeway.This was it; the last hours she was obliged to spend in his company.It seemed absurd that he should feel so melancholy about it, that he should be picking over his food and scouring for the courage to ask formore.More time, more conversation.Luxuries he wasn’t owed ever, but especially not when she was anxious to get to her sister.
“I, uh,” he began, pausing to adjust his already-straight cravat, “was wondering if you would mind it very much if I accompanied you to Shoremoss Hall.”
Those large, inquisitive eyes lifted to him.
“I would not disturb your sister, of course.Only discuss a piece of business with Pemberton, should he be available.”
“Certainly,” she said, smiling a little and returning her attention to her plate.
A bit of the tension eased in his throat.“Your own coach is quite filthy from your adventure.I thought, perhaps, I could return it a bit later on in your stay, once the ground has dried.”
Her teacup had almost reached her lips, but she sat it down at that.Oh God, could she see straight past his veneer of chivalry?Not that he didn’t want to be accommodating, but his plans were borne of a sleepless night, a restless tumbling of what had somehow become his chief concern:How can I see her again?
“Oh, don’t feel obliged to do that,” she said.“I’m sure Lord Pemberton can—”
“I don’t feel obliged.”
Time stilled for a moment, and the barest trace of color warmed Isobel’s cheeks.
“I mean,” Giles said, unable to keep meeting her stare, lest he turn the shade of fried tomatoes, “I mean that I should like to.”
Her thumb toyed with the tiny handle of the teacup, her voice softer when she answered, “Then I suppose I have something to look forward to, Lord Trevelyan.”
Giles’s mud-specked carriage pulled even with the front steps of Shoremoss Hall at one o’clock.The roads were far from admirable, the journey taking nearer to two hours than the expected one.Isobel had spent much of that time with her face pressed near to the window, admiring the desolate landscape as it grew increasingly flat.
Shoremoss Hall was, at its core, an ancient structure, but generations of expansionary minds and a century old fire left the marquess’s home an amalgamation of different ages.The unforgiving stone structure was built into an L-shape, the longer wing rising to a lesser height, its stone less weatherbeaten by salt and sea.Beneath folds of snow, the boundary of a sprawling hedged garden could be made out.
“Thank you, again,” Isobel said as she shrugged off the warm rug Giles had given her and removed her booted feet from the hot brick.“Though you shall have me quite spoiled to travelling comfortably.”
“I believe you earned the right to warmth, considering your initial journey,” Giles said, matching her grin as he stepped down from the carriage and offered his hand.
Outside the confines of the vehicle, warmth was an elusive concept.Wind whipped mercilessly at the hems of their outer garments, and Giles used his free hand to grip the brim of his hat.
“Is that the sea?”Isobel paused when she reached the ground, her gloved fingers tightening on his.Giles, distracted by her lingering touch, almost said that the view was only accessible from the far side of the house, when he realized she wasn’t referencing sight at all.
Isobel had closed her eyes, tipping her chin up toward the aquamarine winter sky.Seagulls wheeled overhead, calling and screeching, but beneath their commotion lay an eternal song: the rush of saltwater against limestone bluffs.
