Page 50 of The Lover's Eye
Isobel realized with an icicle-like jolt that Trevelyan probably did not know what experienceshehad so unwillingly acquired.The strictest interpreters of deportment would declare her ruined by Elias’s advances.No doubt many gentlemen would reject her for less.
If Trevelyan’s offer was made in earnest and she chose to say yes, Isobel knew she must make a clean breast of things to ease her own conscience.She wondered if he, in turn, would ever divulge any of his own history, murky with commemorations to the missing Miss Gouldsmith.
18
Giles spent the next two hours in repressed anger, which showed itself in the tapping of his foot.The black porcelain teacup before him was not fit to be toyed with, being some half-century old treasure of his late mother’s, so he picked at the fleshy areas around his fingernails beneath the tablecloth.
“The designs for some of these new boats are damnably stupid,” Pemberton said, dipping his hand into the deep bowl.It emerged clasping two little cakes.“You’d think the fellows inventing them had never sailed a day.”
“Many men stick to the rivers, dear,” Marriane said.She hadn’t stopped scowling since her husband had jilted her during the seating of the phaeton.“The North Sea is notoriously dangerous.”
Pemberton made a hasty comeback, some derision of any man’s character who did not wish to risk his life on the icy seas.It would be a long enough argument, Giles thought, to tune them both out and observe Isobel instead.
He felt a warm rush fill his limbs when he found her eyes already on him.His restless foot stilled at once, one corner of his mouth ticking into a smile.Isobel’s eyes softened, narrowing beneath long black lashes as she smiled back.
There had always been a bedrock of tension between them, from the moment of their first meeting.It had ebbed and flowed between feelings of hope and promise, to tones of awkwardness and distrust, but their candid discussion in the Pemberton’s garden had altered it into something new.The invisible link was sweeter, somehow, tinged with mutual approval and an inner relish of some private scheme.
Looking at Isobel, Giles felt easy in his decision to make his intentions known—giddy with hope, even.Yet the reality of his bold offer was not lost on him.He had never dreamt of being the sort of man who would wed a woman in haste, without a proper few months of courtship and the approval of her family.He could argue he barely knew Isobel, that the strength of his feeling should both frighten and surprise him.But it simply did not.
Giles often credited himself with good sense, but looking back at his very public betrothal to Aurelia and now this hasty pursuit of Isobel, he began to fear he had no scruples about women whatsoever.
Do not compare them,he rebuked himself.You must never compare them.
A silence lapsed over the table as Finch supplied them with more hot water and cakes.
“This tea service is positively beautiful,” Isobel said, her eyes shyly engaging the old butler.“Lord Trevelyan said bringing it out was your suggestion.”
Finch sat down the teapot as if it were the gilded peacock emblazoned on the object’s side, and not a common household item.His movements were so haltingly cautious, not even a click could be heard as the piece returned to its tray.“Yes, miss, it is an exquisite set.It belonged to the late Lady Trevelyan.It has been a favorite among some of our guests here at Cambo House.”
“That will be all, Finch, thank you,” Giles said, more sternly than he had intended.It was bad enough the old bastard insisted on serving them himself to protect the old relics; Isobel didn’t deserve a history lesson in return for her attempted kindness.
When the group rose to go to the walled garden, Giles offered his arm to Isobel.She flashed a glance at him before looping her hand through the crook of his elbow.Even the minute touch was a salve to his frustration.
He was leading the way through the central hall when Marriane held back on her husband’s arm.“Trevelyan, would you mind if Martin and I stayed back a moment?I do love admiring the art so.”
“Certainly,” he said.“Stay as long as you please.”Giles would have knocked down the stone balustrades and sent them home with Lady Pemberton if he thought it would keep her and her husband away for the span of a moment.
A footman opened the portico doors for the couple to exit.Isobel hovered on the top step, letting out a wistful sigh, as if she had finally returned home after a long, arduous journey.She did not comment on the timid, vibrant green lawn reviving itself around the pond, or the early blooms bordering the paths in clusters.The admiring look that danced in her eyes spoke for her.
“I apologize for Pemberton,” she said, once they had reached the bottom of the stairs.“I fear he has made today something quite different than what you intended.”
Giles guided her along the main path, toward the arching stone staircases.As much as he wanted to whisk her down the more secluded lanes for maximum privacy, he felt obligated to observe propriety.He had broken enough gentlemanly conduct already.
“Ah,” he said, smiling at the implication of her words.“And what is it you suppose I intended?”
Isobel’s cheeks flushed the shade of pink viburnum.“Forgive me, I—”
Giles squeezed her arm playfully.“I am only joking with you.You are correct, if you assume I’ve been hoping desperately to get you alone, though it’s not your place to apologize for old Pemberton.”
“Even after this morning?”
“Especiallyafter this morning.”
They separated when they reached the stone terrace, gravitating toward the walled edge and looking out at the garden below.
“I take it you and your sister discussed my proposition on the drive over?”
Isobel’s eyes widened.“I was hoping you had not overheard us.I apologize, how terribly impertinent, I-I should have waited for a private moment.”
