Page 48 of The Lover's Eye
“I never knew,” she said in a small voice, looking up at him.“I never knew you came.I thought …” She swallowed.“Never mind what I thought.If he was that cross with you, he would not even provide you my dowry, perhaps not even the estate—”
Giles turned deeper into her and reached for her other hand, until he was clasping both with gentle, deliberate pressure.“I have no need for any of your fortune.Truly.This choice, it is all your own.”
“We would not even have time for a proper courtship, to get acquainted with each other.They expect me back in a fortnight, you see.I had planned to leave for London before then.”
“I have to be honest with you, Miss Ridgeway.It is my greatest hope that you want to marry me.That you are even half so fascinated by me as I am by you.”Giles paused for breath.“But if marriage is not what you want, I was serious, when I said I would do anything.If you accept my help, I’ll make sure of it that no one forces you into a life you don’t desire.”
He could see the tumult of thoughts behind her eyes, bewilderment besieging hurt.He might have been calm up until now, but that was over with—blood rushed through his veins, whooshing in his ears.His mind was frantic with thoughts, so overwhelmed that it was nearly rendered blank.
“I think I see,” she said at length.
“Yes?”Giles barely got the word out.
“They … say things about you.And now they will be spreading gossip about me, too.You’re offering a marriage of convenience, to stop the rumors?”
He felt like the ground had been taken out from under him.What horrid things had she heard about him?Clearly tales so vile she thought he would be willing to marry to escape them.As if anything could silence a rumor once started.
But more than that—oh, so much more—were those three damnable little words.No.He did not want a convenient anything.He opened his mouth to speak, but the rusty gate groaned and slammed nearby.
Giles withdrew his hands and smoothed them absently over his coat front.He gave Isobel a terse smile just before Pemberton rounded the corner.
“There you are!It bodes well to let someone know when you’ve found the missing sister, Trev.”
17
When the trio returned to the manse, Trevelyan’s horses were stamping impatiently in their harnesses.Marriane was waiting, her black eyes squinting under her lavish bonnet.
“Betsey is waiting in the vestibule with your things,” she said, looking at Isobel.“We must make haste.”
Isobel recognized the sharpness in her sister’s eyes and her tightly interlaced fingers.Marriane’s temper was bordering on rage.Not only had Isobel read her private correspondence, she had run off without a word and thrown the day’s plans into disarray.She went up the stairs in wordless compliance, her three companions waiting below.
Betsey was waiting on command.She stood just behind the open doors in a cast of shadow, already holding open a spencer jacket for Isobel to stick her arms into.
“Pray, Betsey, tell me truthfully.How awful do I look?”Isobel asked, fanning her stinging eyes with her hands.She felt hot and perpetually anxious, disbelieving the morning’s events.
The lady’s maid took her chin and tilted it a little, then gripped her by the arms and turned her toward the light.Her lips twitched before she replied, “Not awful, miss.Not so bad as you’re like to think.”
Isobel groaned.She wanted to walk over to the gilt mirror by the entry table, to see in full detail how she had presented herself to Trevelyan.She could still see his inquisitive eyes so close to her face, feel the elevations of his cool fingers and the brush of his knee.
But any stares of vanity would be visible to those waiting below the open doors.
Betsey adjusted the brim of Isobel’s bonnet until it was straight, and evened the lengths of the ribbon bow beneath her chin.“You’d best be off.”
Isobel forced a smile before whirling out the door.Marriane and Pemberton were engaged in lively conversation, but Trevelyan stood apart, watching the doors.Watching forher.Isobel’s heart tipped on its axis.
“There we are,” Pemberton said with an exasperated sigh.“Let’s get on with it, shall we?”
The phaeton boasted two rows of seats, the backmost sitting slightly lower.Marriane hovered there, daunted by the vehicle’s excessive height and scarce design.A footman let down the step and offered her his hand.
“All right,” she said, sighing once safely on her perch.She eyed the distance between herself and the ground.“Come along, Martin, dear.”
The erratic pulse in Isobel’s chest heightened further.The seats were narrow.There were no sidepieces to close travelers into the vehicle, either, but an open expanse in front of their feet.If she was to sit by Trevelyan, it would be impossible to not sit close against him.
He was letting down the step to the front seat, and when he turned back, met Isobel’s gaze.He opened his mouth to speak, but Pemberton interrupted.“I believe I’ll ride up front with Trev,” he said to his wife, mounting the turned-out stair before she could object.“I wouldn’t mind seeing how this curious little vehicle handles.Might even want one for myself.”
“Martin, you can’t be serious!Why, that’s altogether impolite of you, and besides, I should like your arm for support.It’s really rather high,” Marriane said, her gaze drawn downward yet again.
“Bah, you’ll be fine, love.”
