Page 20 of The Lover's Eye
Isobel inched closer to her.“That may be, but that doesn’t mean you’ve become a new person.The things you enjoy still matter.Youstill matter.”
“I am a different person, Isobel.I’m a lady of duty.That’s what happens when you marry.You’ll see.”
Angry heat surged in Isobel.She didn’t want to ‘see’.If the prospect of marrying into the Sempill family wasn’t dispiriting enough on its own, observing the tense arrangement between Marriane and Pemberton was enough to make Isobel crave spinsterhood.
“Has he made you feel this way?”Isobel prompted.“Because I’ll not tolerate—”
“Of course he is dissatisfied!”Marriane hissed.“He’s given me everything: the fine gowns and jewelry, leave to redecorate anything I choose, all I desired that Papa could never afford.I haven’t been able to provide the one dratted thing—”
The appearance of a footman silenced her.“Pardon me, my lady.Lord Trevelyan has arrived; he’s below, with his lordship.”
Marriane craned her head around to view the mahogany mantel clock.“Excellent.There’s time enough to invite him to stay for dinner.”She rose, smoothing her fine muslin skirts.“Would you like to join me?”
“I believe I’ll remain here.”
Marriane left the room, the jewels clasped around her neck and pinned in her hair sparkling with the movement.Isobel heaved the sigh she’d been holding and began to massage her temples.
The blissful day she’d spent in Lord Trevelyan’s company felt long gone, along with her optimism that she could fix anything in her path.He couldn’t know how afflicted Marriane truly was, and still he had not called at Shoremoss Hall once prior to now, and this was only an obligatory visit to deliver the coach.Had he any real interest in courting her, he would have paid her more attention while she was seven miles away, and not sixty.
No, it was plain enough.Two people not often in society had been thrust together by chance, and delighted in the rarity of company and conversation—noteach other.Just as she’d thought.
“He’s staying for dinner,” Marriane said, already speaking before she crossed the drawing room threshold.“Come, let’s pick out our best silks.”
Isobel smiled blinkingly.
Damn it.
8
Giles had been staving off a megrim all day, jittery with indecision.He’d spent the better part of a week deciding whether to return the Ridgeway coach personally.A polite note sent with his coachman would have undoubtedly sufficed, but his better judgement had not won out.Because here he was, sitting at the Shoremoss dinner table, surrounded by expressionless faces.
He thought about the small parcel he’d left in the entry hall and felt like an idiot.He had overestimated his and Miss Ridgeway’s connection.She had scarcely looked at him all evening; gifting her something so personal would surely be frowned upon.Too late,he thought, angling a tense smile at her.She returned it, but neither spoke.
The room’s silence was pronounced: the grating patter of silverware against china, the swish of servant’s livery by the sideboard, the irritating pendulum swing of the clock.
It would have been easier if Isobel wasn’t seated beside him, a placement he could only perceive as a twist of cruelty.Being across from her would have been easier.He could have travelled his eyes from his plate to his host and ignored her nearness with relative ease.But no …
Giles was privy to her soapy, rosy scent, and each movement she made was accompanied by the distracting rustle of her silk shawl.A lump formed in his throat.He wanted to feel her.Her gaze, and her pretty hands.Her lush mouth and the sleek line of her waist.
“Oh, I quite forgot,” Pemberton said suddenly, his voice an unexpected boom among the quiet.“A letter came for you today, sister.From that godforsaken Sempill woman.”
A long muscle jumped in Isobel’s neck.
“Said it’s important you return posthaste,” Pemberton continued, sawing into a cut of lamb with all the delicacy of a wild animal.“Seems you forgot about some prior engagement or other.”
Marriane’s brow furrowed.“What sort of engagement?”
“How am I to recall?”Pemberton sighed, taking a long swig from his wine glass.“Come to think of it, I believe the old tabby did say.The Everly Ball?”
“I did not think it so soon,” Marriane said, eyeing Trevelyan as if for confirmation.But his attention was still riveted on Isobel.She had sat down her silverware, her eyes gone wide.She blinked dazedly.
“You opened my correspondence?”
Pemberton ceased working over his plate, his muted gaze levelling on her.“What of it?”
“Come now,” Giles said, clearing his throat.He spun his plain stem glass, round and round.“Even you ought to know better than that, Pemberton.It’s a matter of common respect.”
“We can’t all be so noble as you, Trev.My house, my letters—one and all of them.”Pemberton’s attention was grabbed by Marriane, who edged nearer to his side and began rattling something off about the indelicacy of hosting a country ball in winter.
