Page 16 of The Lover's Eye
She had confided in him that she’d never left Cumberland; seldom left home.But to watch her experiencing this new slice of world, drinking in the very landscape which he so often took for granted, squeezed Giles’s heart.
At the top of the stairs, a footman opened the door to them.The sound broke her spell, and when her eyes opened, they were sharp with determination.
“Welcome to Shoremoss, miss,” the footman said, bowing to Isobel after he had greeted Trevelyan.“Her ladyship awaits you.”
Divested of her redingote and gloves, Isobel was already wavering in place, seemingly magnetized toward the steep, narrow staircase.
“Is Pemberton hereabouts?”Giles asked the footman as he handed over his greatcoat.
“In the study, my lord.”
Giles nodded, still glued in place as the footman led Isobel up the stairs.Her hands fidgeted behind her back, and she didn’t give him a backward glance.
Giles drew a steadying breath before proceeding down the hall.He and Pemberton had been acquaintances for as long as he could remember, and friends since they’d been sent off to attend the same university in boyhood.Until the last year or so, Giles had never questioned the integrity of their friendship.Pemberton was known for being an entitled, grumpy arse, but he was still the man who had defended Giles during those university years from hell.Who had cut him loose when bullies had tied him to a tree.Who had throttled the same group of hellions when they’d snuck laudanum into Giles’s tea, and hacked off locks of his hair with a dull knife, planning to display the curious silver curls for what they were: a shameful curiosity, when found on a boy of five and ten.
Pemberton was gruff and unrelenting, yes, but he was also Giles’s only real friend.They could go weeks or months without talking, and neither one would take notice.They could have a day of shooting or cards, and part ways amicably, with no need for deep conversation on personal affairs or parliamentary business.It was only recently that this dynamic had shifted, and Pemberton had mentioned all those decade-old favors he’d accumulated, keen to see them repaid.
Giles tried, for the millionth time, to put the memory from his mind.It was a business settled now.He might be someone who thrived in reclusive solitude, but that didn’t mean he was incapable of experiencing loneliness.That he didn’t want to keep his one friend.Especially now that this friend is my link toher.
The study doors were cracked open and smelled of fresh paint.Giles rapped on one, half expecting the white gloss to transfer to his knuckles.
“There you are, good fellow,” Pemberton called in monotone bass.“She already off to see her sister?”
“Yes.”Giles entered the room.It seemed every time he came to Shoremoss in the months since Pemberton’s marriage, things were altered.This time it was new damask silk papering—a rich cobalt blue, redolent of the sea—and a rearrangement of furniture.
“What do you make of the new walls?”Pemberton asked with a snort.“Absolutely bloody pointless.Don’t ask me how much she spent on the paper.Didn’t let her touch my damn chairs though—something’s got to be sacred, hm?”
Giles smiled, having little opinion on stylistic furnishings.For his own part, he liked the crisp familiarity of the changes his mother and grandmother had made to Cambo House ages ago.“How is Lady Pemberton doing?Her sister tells me she’s ill.”
The marquess rose from behind his desk, dismissing the concern with a hand.“You know what it’s about.She’ll be fine.As for me …”
Giles thought he might know what it was about, though he most ardently wished he didn’t.
“So, how was that for you, good man?”Pemberton gave a dry laugh, showing short, straight teeth.“Having a young woman up and interpose on your fine bachelor’s quarters?”
Giles took the proffered seat, a large chair of green leather.It creaked beneath his weight, and he slung an arm across the back of it.“I confess,” he said, “I was cross at first, but my company proved to not be of a bad sort.”
The marquess’s light brown eyebrows rose.Reactions were not often coaxed from his face, which was made of thick skin that looked sun-tanned and brine-splashed year-round.Despite his station, Pemberton was a man of the sea.While his skin might have shown it, his dandified outfit belied it.
“Isay,” he remarked, reaching for a decanter of brandy and two glasses.“Has the young Miss Ridgeway gone and caught your eye?”
Giles only lifted his shoulder and took a sip from the glass presented to him.
Pemberton sat on the arm of an upholstered settee and crossed his tasseled boot over one knee.“Although, ‘young’ might not be the word any longer,” he mused.“She’s two and twenty if I’m not mistaken.Biding her time until she must marry that Sempill lad—best act promptly, my friend.”
Giles lowered the glass from his lips, his expression growing guarded.“I was going to ask if she had any attachments.It did not seem to me—”
“Oh, her grouchy old Pa drew her marriage lines before she was out of leading strings.Him and that wretched Sempill woman.”
Giles was no fool about women; he had seen the interest in her eyes—and her attempts to fight it—and suddenly felt he had been misled.“She mentioned no such arrangement,” he said, taking a long sip.
Pemberton snorted dryly.“I’d find it damned strange if she did, wouldn’t you?Unless the pair of you had some existing acquaintance I’m unaware of.”
“You think Lord Ridgeway would not hear of another suit, then?”
Pemberton’s wide mouth stretched into a knowing smile.He was enjoying this conversation far too well.“I think you’ve been out of company for too long, old fellow, if you’re in such a fix after a day with the girl.Need I remind you how cautious you were with—”
“I thought we agreed to never discuss that again,” Giles interrupted, his voice cold.“Besides … Miss Ridgeway is nothing like her.”
