Page 23 of The Lover's Eye
“Forgive me, if I was too forward.I know we don’t have a long-standing acquaintance—”
She startled the living hell out of him by flinging her arms around his neck.Giles found himself surrounded by the very delicacies that had driven him stark mad at dinner—that petal sweet scent travelled in on his every breath, and the swishing silk was cool against his neck.But she was warm.
Miss Isobel Ridgeway was honeyed sweetness, and she was whispering in his ear.“Thank you.”
9
Cold wind cut across Isobel’s cheeks and nape, and had its way with her hair.Her bonnet and wool redingote were no use against the sea’s strength; it was blowing up a gale.
She had begged Marriane to accompany her on a walk.One final, sisterly outing before Isobel left for Cumberland.They ambled some distance from the cliff edge, following the incongruous coastline from easterly headlands to scooped out bays.Far below, the brine-soaked rocks of the shingle beach stretched out like broken, knobby fingers, absorbing the force of the North Sea with indifference.Isobel was fascinated by the callousness of the landscape, and hesitant to leave it.
“Look!”she called excitedly, half-yelling against the wind boxing her ears.
Marriane squinted out at the tumult of sea, following the point of Isobel’s finger.The water was a midnight blue, dimmed by the heavy swath of cloud cover.Gliding over the waves was a bird of vibrant black and white, its neck gracefully arched.
“It’s only an eider, dear,” Marriane said, diverting her gaze.“I’m afraid it’s nothing out of the ordinary.”
“Well, it is to me,” Isobel said with a smile, unperturbed.
She had been floating since Trevelyan’s visit.It still didn’t feel real that he had held onto the slice of memories they had created together during the storm.That he had held on to some small part ofher,not unlike Isobel had with him—and now she had a physical reminder of that connection.The priceless leatherbound volume of Homer’s works.
She had promised to return the book to him, ignoring all his protests.It was clearly a valuable object, and Isobel hadn’t missed the small etchings inside the cover, names and dates of Trevelyan’s family members from generations past.It was that sentimentality which turned the book from valuable to priceless, and Isobel could hardly believe he’d entrusted her with it.
She remembered the strength of his arms around her back, returning her embrace.The sweet, sharp, minty scent of him.A shivering thrill ran up her spine, unrelated to the cold climate.
“I’m a little surprised you’re abiding Lady Sempill’s letter,” Marriane said, staring at the ground passing beneath their boots.“Are you quite devoted to Elias?”
“What?”The question took Isobel by surprise.Devotion hardly described the cool courtesy she and Elias stood on.“No, of course not.You know I’m not ready to wed.”
Marriane fixed her dark gaze on her sister.“You might want to consider how your behavior presents, then.You’re acting like a proper pet, Isobel—they call, and you come running.I feel sure that’s how Trevelyan sees it.”
Isobel’s heels ground into the soft earth.“Whatever do you mean?Did he say something?”She caught Marriane’s elbow to get her attention.“Tell me.”
“No, he didn’t say anything.He’s an exceedingly reserved man.But gifting you that book was no small intimacy, and now you’re running home based on a ruse.”
“Do you mean to say …” She paused to tame a wayward strand of hair.“You believe there’s a possibility Lord Trevelyan …?”
“Wants to court you?”Marriane finished, shrugging one small, wool-clad shoulder.“I couldn’t say.But you’re not like to find out, should you run back to Elias.”
Isobel’s pulse heightened, newfound anxiety robbing her of her good humor.Her father’s coach was already packed.Betsey had spent the previous night meticulously folding and wrapping every dress, stacking them into the old trunks.A letter had been sent ahead to Lord Ridgeway to expect Isobel’s early return.
“Do you care for him at all?”
Isobel met her sister’s searching glance, and swallowed the lump in her throat.“Who?”
Marriane’s brow creased.“Elias, of course.And I mean as more than a pleasant neighbor.”
“Is he pleasant?”Isobel answered as if by mechanization, an accidental release of her true feelings.“He has not a nice thing to say, Marriane.He lets his mother control his every step—and mine,when she’s around.He talks of marriage like a business arrangement, of women like property—”
“Then why in God’s name are you going back?”
When Isobel’s tirade ended, her fingers were tingling, bitter cold and bloodless.“I don’t know,” she said quietly.“It’s much easier, to just … go along.”
Marriane’s gloved finger came to her sister’s chin.Something akin to sadness, to sympathy, brimmed her eyes.“My dear sister.”
“Do you think I’m making a grave error?The coach is already packed.It’s too late for me to change plans now.And Pemberton’s hospitality is plainly run dry; he seems only too happy for me to be leaving.”
Marriane relinquished her touch.“Martin doesn’t like his habits interrupted.It’s hardly personal.”
