Page 37 of The Lover's Eye
Isobel’s eyes widened.“Are you—?”
Marriane smiled, a soft, carefully restrained tilt of the lips.“We are not certain yet.But I may be with child again.”
Isobel took up her sister’s free hand and gave it a squeeze.Congratulations seemed the proper thing to offer, but she felt the risk of another pregnancy as acutely as she hoped for the reward.
“Do you see that little knoll?”Marriane pointed out the window.
Isobel leaned forward and squinted, but saw little more than mud and water.After some pointing from Marriane, she did see an island far in the distance.It seldom had any elevation, but laid belly down against its briny bed, a mass of dune swept in tall grass.
“Why ever would you want me to see that?”Isobel asked, unimpressed.
“It is local lore.They say an old witch lady lives there.Almost like an oracle, but she doctors, too.”
“What?”Isobel laughed in disbelief.“That is the most preposterous thing you’ve ever said.”
Marriane’s expression remained stoic and neutral, her creamy skin several shades lighter than Isobel’s own.“I did not believe it at first, either, I can assure you.Not until Reverend Gouldsmith mentioned he used to go witness to her.”
The vicar.Isobel made the association with Aurelia at once, a wash of memories—and questions—from the ball coming back to her.“Used to?”
Marriane nodded.“He said he loathed the walk, but that is not why he stopped his visits.Apparently, the last time he went they had words, and she chased him off with gun and bade him never return.”
Isobel placed a hand to her mouth, desperately trying to coax down the corners.“Why would a witch doctor have a gun?And this vicar of yourswalked?”She stole a final glance at the island before it dipped from view, the North Sea encircling its shores like a spilled bolt of imperial blue velvet.
“It is high tide, dearest.At low tide, a sandbar allows passage all the way there, though it’s a treacherous walk.The water can rise astonishingly fast.”
A chill climbed Isobel’s spine.For all her love of walking, she had difficulty imagining herself daring that passage.“He must be a dedicated vicar,” she mused.
“Oh, and as for the gun,” Marriane said, ignoring her, “that bit is not far-fetched in the least.People still go to her to have their fates read, or to seek cures, or to resolvedelicate matters—you know, unwed mothers, rashes from prostitutes—errands people are too proud to take up with the family doctor.But they still must trade with something, and I imagine money would be of no use to a hermit.”
Isobel was baffled by the whole tale, and more than a little disbelieving, but the carriage was rolling into the village.
The coachman deposited the ladies at the top of High Street per Marriane’s request.She wanted to show Isobel all the notable shops, finishing with a view of the broad beach at the street’s end.
They skirted past the smellier establishments, where male voices shouted and crates jostled.Isobel had no interest in paying the local butcher, wine merchant, or fishmonger a visit, but they hadn’t been able to avoid the sharp scent of a fish cart sitting out in the middle of the street.
“Langoustine!”the man had called, taking a half-step nearer to them.“Get your fresh langoustine here!”
They ducked inside a bookshop, where Marriane insisted on purchasing two novels she caught Isobel eyeing, and the haberdasher, where Marriane spent a quarter of an hour deciding which buttons she wanted for a new carriage dress.
“Now to the confectioner’s shop and the beach,” Marriane said as they spilled out onto the street.
They were leaning on each other and laughing, looking down at the tangle of their arms, reticules, and parcels, when they nearly ran into two men.
“Oh, I’m terribly sorry—”
It was Lord Trevelyan.Isobel’s smile faded upon meeting his cold gaze.Two lines pleated the space between his eyebrows, and he towered over her from this closeness.He took two steps back, his gloved hands folded in front of him.
“That’s quite all right.”His full lips stretched into an attempt at a smile, but it was strained and not at all in harmony with the disapproving expressiveness around his eyes.He gave a terse bow.“How do you do, Lady Pemberton, Miss Ridgeway.”
“Very well,” Marriane said brightly.Her eyes flickered to the second man present, who stood at Trevelyan’s side.He was of middle age and his height barely drew even with the sharp set of Trevelyan’s shoulder.He wore spectacles that reminded Isobel of her father, and had a pleasant, humble expression.It was evident his hair had once been red, but age had faded its pigment, leaving it wispy and … the distinct peachy shade of langoustine.
“Miss Ridgeway, I don’t expect you’ve met our vicar,” Trevelyan said, visibly displeased that he was obligated to introduce the pair.“Reverend Gouldsmith, this is Lady Pemberton’s sister, Miss Ridgeway of Kittwick.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Reverend,” Isobel said with mechanical politeness.She cultivated an outward look of calm, but her nerves stood fully heightened.She had been hoping to see him again.Even now, with his icy gaze, she was glad to be near him.Good heavens,he was handsome.He was also mid-conversation with his missing bride’s father.
Marriane engaged in a polite strain of conversation with the vicar, but Trevelyan and Isobel stood stiff as boards, the wind tickling the hair beneath their hats.Isobel was trying to resist the urge to look at him, and it seemed he was doing the same.When she could take it no longer and gazed up at his face, she found his light eyes trained in the direction of her gloved hands.
“Perhaps you will join us for dinner one evening,” Marriane was saying.
