Page 25 of The Lover's Eye
Lord Ridgeway’s head sagged until his jowl tickled his chest.“Oh, my dear girl.You would think it a father’s dream, to have one so disinterested in courtship and marriage.And it has been—only you are two and twenty now.”He said the last sentence in an irritated growl that made Isobel inch back.
“Papa, I am simply not ready.”She stared at her plate, any trace of appetite lost.
“I am becoming an old man,” Lord Ridgeway said matter-of-factly.“Elias will take run of this estate, and someone must be around to teach him how to do so.His father never groomed him for such a role.”
Isobel disregarded her father’s voice as he proceeded to extol her—surely for the millionth time—of all the benefits of the match.
Sir Sempill’s eldest son was to inherit the Sempill estate, which left Elias with no property of his own.A marriage to Isobel would not only ensure the continuity of the Ridgeway estate, it would bind the neighboring properties in strength and finances, the latter of which Lord Ridgeway had never been a good manager of.
Elias would gain property and a handsome association to the viscount’s title.Lord Ridgeway would be relieved of whatever financial burdens he had accrued and never have to suffer his youngest daughter straying from his side.Isobel was just a piece on the game board, a necessary formality to be shoved from one confining box to another.In marriage to Elias Sempill, she would stay as stuck as she ever was, existing only as an unhelpful adjunct to the men in her life.
“Can you not begin teaching him without my being married to him?”she asked when her father paused for breath.
He let out a dry, humorless laugh.“That is a foolish notion, and a completely improper one.”He rubbed his eyes with hands that flaked of dry skin.“Elias came by and chatted with me while you were away.Isobel, you must know, I gave him leave to court you in earnest.”
Dread settled in her veins like lead.No.Thursday dinners were pressurizing enough.Every touch, every word, every contrived opportunity for them to be left alone together.Isobel did not want to imagine the intensity of Elias’s pursuit now.
“It’s been long enough, child.I imagine you have already bruised the fellow’s pride a good deal.”
I do not care for his pride, Isobel longed to say.
“What if there was someone else?”she asked suddenly, the words tumbling out in a rush.
Her father’s unruly white brows scrunched over his eyes.“Someone else?”
“Yes.What if there were another suitor?”Isobel paused, forcing herself to sit tall.“Would you be opposed to considering him?”
Red splotches appeared on Lord Ridgeway’s cheeks, and his breathing became audible, a thick wheezing through his nostrils.“Is there someone else?”
His question seemed to reverberate against the walls, hollow and daring.Isobel hated where her mind inexplicably went.Giles Trevelyan’s arms—on the icy steps, kneeling in the drawing room.The tantalizing, dreadful intimacy of his book, now tucked discreetly in the drawer of her dressing table.
“No,” she said softly.“I don’t suppose there is.”
“Then where do you intend to find this mystery husband, Isobel?Out on the moors?Because let me tell you plainly, I will not empty my coffers to send you out for a Season, not when there is a perfectly eligible man besotted with you right here.”He ground the tip of his finger into the tabletop, and Isobel felt suddenly light-headed.
Their eyes locked, the shared hold burning with anger.But Lord Ridgeway claimed the final word.
“I.Will.Not.”
10
Four weeks later
Isobel generally considered herself to be made of strong stock, but February 1814 was a month conjured up from hell.To put a finer point upon it, Elias Sempill was Hades, his odious mother Cerberus, and Isobel was nowhere near to experiencing Persephone’s transformation from hatred to love.
Two things had been her crutch these past weeks: Trevelyan’s book, which she had already read the tremendous breadth of from cover to cover, and a spot of mercy from her father.He had agreed to let her visit Marriane again, as long as she waited until after the Everly Ball.The sisters had already exchanged letters, settling the plans into finality: Isobel would leave Cumberland again, if only she could manage another month of incessant activity.
Elias called five to six days a week now, and he had an infuriating habit of bringing his mother along half of the time.They sat in the drawing room, crunched onto the faded chintz settee that no one bothered to reupholster, perspiration beading their upper lips as the fire raged on in the grate.The conversations were intolerable, always consisting of the basest, regurgitated gossip, and extending far beyond the acceptable calling time of a quarter hour.
When Elias came alone, Isobel was forced to withstand the sweat-dampened attentions of his hand holding hers, and avoid squirming when he repeatedly laid kisses to her knuckles.So far, she had narrowly avoided having those thin lips near to her face, but she could read it in his gaze: Elias was growing impatient.Hungry.
Lady Sempill’s attendance might have been a welcome chaperonage, had she not preached endless lectures on the duties of an honorable wife.She slighted Isobel’s penchant for reading, expressing fears that it would spoil the delicate feminine mind, and put it into Lord Ridgeway’s head that Betsey ought to be accompanying Isobel on her daily walks for ‘propriety’s sake’.
Not today,Isobel thought, yanking on her oldest walking dress of blue cotton, not bothering to call Betsey for assistance.She was able to get the garment fitted around her well enough, save a few popping seams caused by her wild manipulation.Today she would walk alone, just as she liked, and she wouldn’t tell a soul where she was going.
Isobel had taken her breakfast with her papa, and not missed the inuendo in his phrasing.I hope you are looking forward to the Everly Ball.A fine event it is.A good occasion for making announcements.How is your good Captain Sempill?
The recollection of each syllable heightened her ire as she slipped down the steps of Ridgeway House, the heavy stomp of her feet already loosening black strands from her untidily pinned chignon.
