Page 3 of The Lover's Eye
Isobel looked diligently at her cake.“Yes.I’ve already sent word that she can expect me tomorrow.”
The Ridgeways’ guests grew very quiet.Elias revoked his hand, using it to rub his nose roughly.Only Isobel’s father continued on with his meal.
“Lord Ridgeway,” Lady Sempill said, “you cannot seriously hope to allow such a scheme.”
“You heard the girl,” he said with a shrug, tossing a sweet morsel to the floor for his tabby cat, Beatrice.“Word’s already been sent.One less decision I have to trifle with.”
Isobel refused to meet anyone’s eye and began nibbling at her dessert, ignoring the fact that she’d left her appetite in the hall.She was two and twenty.She could make her own decisions.And though she could tolerate much from the Sempills, owing their plain speaking to years of familiarity between the two families, their resistance on this matter was not welcomed.
“If you are so set on going,” Lady Sempill said at length, her voice clipped, “I feel it my duty to educate you on Lord Pemberton’s neighbors.There are no eligible young gentlemen thereabouts, I can assure you.”
The conversation that followed would have read like a scandal sheet, with Lord Ridgeway occasionally interjecting to laugh or offer opposition.It was only after Lady Sempill had castigated a good number of Northumberland children, questioning whether they had been born on the right side of the blanket, and lamented that one country squire had botched it all up over gin and gaming, that she said something which interested Isobel.
“Oh, and praydo not allow me to start on the poor, poor Earl of Cambo,” she said, the crimped lines of her face deepening to a pout.“Elias, you must stop me from telling the story.”
Playing the dutiful son, Elias sharpened his posture and managed to say but three words about his recent promotion before his mother spoke over him.“Do you know the Earl of Cambo?”she asked Lord Ridgeway.
“Giles Trevelyan, is it?In name only, I—”
Even the vague recognition was enough to send Lady Sempill off on the next leg of her rant.“Then you must know of the tragedy that befell him but last year, losing his beloved betrothed.”
Isobel paused mid-sip, the stem of her glass goblet stilling between her fingers, saccharine madeira pooling in her mouth.Giles Trevelyan, Earl of Cambo.Had she heard that name before?
She felt Elias’s eyes on her and hastened to lower her glass, forcing a swallow on the generous sip.
“Er, what was the lady’s name?”Lord Ridgeway asked, distracted by Beatrice, who was now sharpening her claws on his knee.Isobel’s curiosity had eclipsed her father’s, and she waited impatiently for the reply.
“Miss Aurelia Gouldsmith.”Lady Sempill let free an expressive sigh, the feather in her hair flexing with the movement.“Even her very name sounds gilded.They say she was a most exceptional beauty.”
Lord Ridgeway’s wiry grey brows dipped.“I’m not familiar with that name.From what family—?”
“Oh, she had no titles to recommend her,” Lady Sempill said.“That is in part why it is so romantic, as if pulled straight from the pages of a novel.For a mere vicar’s daughter to grab the attention of an earl!It is unheard of.A true love match.”
Isobel fixed on these words.
“I hope you will heed my advice, dear Isobel, when I tell you to keep your distance from Lord Trevelyan.He is the only eligible bachelor about those parts, but everyone knows no other lady will ever compare to his lost Aurelia.”The older woman’s jaw worked over some confection.“Not even a lady of such fine breeding as yourself.It would be a shame for you to make a spectacle of yourself.”
Elias stiffened at Isobel’s side, and a long muscle twitched in her neck.
“Surely, Lord Trevelyan will not be out in society, Mother,” he said.“If all is as you say, he is likely still mourning.”
Lady Sempill’s head cocked to one side as she raked her fingers through a bowl of cakes.“Men are strange creatures, Elias.One cannot tell what schemes they may get up to.”
It was a peculiar comment, as were most of the things that erupted from Lady Sempill’s mouth, but it worked to the desired effect.Elias’s thin lips pinched, and he clung to Isobel’s side like a wet leaf for the remainder of the evening.
Relief did not come for her until much later, when she was tucked under the heavy counterpane in her bedchamber, a fire blazing in the grate.Two trunks sat at the foot of her bed, and though they looked ancient, they withstood the weight of her belongings packed inside.
She was only going to visit her sister.It would be a short, uneventful visit, just long enough to see Marriane restored to health.Why, then, did she feel like she was on the cusp of something inexplicably … more?
Isobel tossed from side to side until the linen sheet tangled around her feet and her pillow was beaten to a misshapen lump.With a sigh, she rose.Even the carpets were cold under her stockinged feet, and she heard little flecks of wintry precipitation pinging against the windows.She reached under her bed and pulled out a small box.
Marriane’s handwriting glowed off the pages, her characters smooth and legible and feminine.How much better Isobel would feel, had tonight’s missive been written in this hand.
I promise I shall have you out for a visit soon, sister.If only I could get the guest rooms just as I want them.Wouldn’t you know, papering walls is quite a trifling task.
I intended for you to come stay with Martin and me in the next fortnight, but own I’m rather ashamed for you to witness the state of our dinners.Perhaps after I hire a new cook.
Oh, Isobel, to be wed is bliss.When you at last relent to our good Elias, I hope he makes you a pinch so happy as Martin does me.
