Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN

H yde Park might have been the closest thing to paradise on Earth, as Isolde strolled with her two dearest friends, Valery and Amelia, down the sunbaked pathways. There was not a cloud in the sky, the plane trees and sycamores offering blissful shade, the breeze warm and gentle, cheering the spirits of even the gloomiest wanderer.

Of course, Edmund was not smiling, but that was of little surprise to Isolde. She knew he could smile, but he seemed incapable of doing so when he was near to her, as if her very presence was a sickness that sapped him of all pleasantries.

"Goodness, I wish that I had such a handsome escort," Valery whispered, flashing a wicked smile. "It is rather counterintuitive, though. How are you supposed to concentrate on society's eligible bachelors when the most eligible, and the most appealing, is forever walking ten paces behind you?"

Isolde rolled her eyes. "My dear Valery, what would you know of eligible bachelors when you have sworn off gentlemen of every kind? I am surprised you even noticed my irksome chaperone who, by the way, becomes decidedly less handsome when you get to know his character."

"So, you admit it, you do think he is handsome?" Valery teased.

Amelia hid a chuckle behind her hand. "It would be such a romantic story, Isolde—two former enemies falling hopelessly in love with one another, and you would make such a beautiful pair."

" Former enemies?" Isolde quirked an eyebrow. "There is no ‘former' about it. As for falling hopelessly in love; there is a greater chance of Valery deciding that she will break her vow of spinsterhood and marry after all. Indeed, if Edmund were the very last man upon the face of this Earth, and I the last woman, I would choose solitude."

Amelia nudged Isolde lightly in the ribs. "Methinks the lady doth protest too much."

"Methinks the lady is entirely serious," Isolde quipped.

Amelia chewed her lower lip in thought as they wandered beneath the sprawling boughs of an oak tree that, deep down, Isolde was desperate to climb. Of course, it was not ladylike, but she missed climbing trees and doing whatever she liked without fear of judgment or a scolding. If Valery were a tree-climbing person, for example, she would not have hesitated, for she did not have her family's hopes resting on her making a good, fortuitous marriage.

"But did you not swoon even a little bit when he rushed to your rescue?" Amelia asked a moment later. "Was it not terribly heroic and stirring? The way you told the story made it sound utterly wonderful."

"Then that is the fault of my impeccable storytelling talents," Isolde insisted, her insides squirming, wishing her friends would not concentrate on the events of yesterday's garden party any longer. All she wanted to do was forget about it and focus on finding her prince of thorns.

"I was not even injured. Not much, anyway," she continued. "Yes, it was… kind of him to show such concern, but do not mistake the reason: he was worried my brother would box his ears if anything terrible had happened to me, he was not actually worried about my welfare."

She did not know if that was true or not, but she had decided that it was, for her own sake. Just as she had decided that any and all feelings that might have sparked during the port incident were to be blamed solely on her shock. Any relief or enchantment she may or may not have experienced, upon seeing Edmund beside her and feeling his hand upon hers was just a result of the fright that Robert had given her.

As for the way he had gently touched her stomach to make sure she was not severely hurt—the less she thought about that, the better, for it only served to fill her chest with a bubbly, restless sensation. Nor could she dwell too much on the feverish worry that had gleamed in his dark blue eyes for, in truth, it had seemed very real indeed.

"Well," Valery remarked, "at least you will not struggle for suitors. I read Lord Spofforth's apology to you in the papers this morning."

Amelia nodded. "As did I. Did you read it, Isolde?"

"I must have missed it," Isolde replied, neglecting to add that she done so deliberately.

She had no interest in anything that Robert had to say, though it had made her wonder if she ought to put a message of her own in the papers—an anonymous note, inviting the mysterious gentlemen from the palace gardens to make himself known to her. She would not have to give her name, just an allusion to her identity, something only he would recognize, so he would understand who had written it.

"He was very complimentary about you," Amelia said. "I doubt there shall be any repercussions."

Valery snorted. "Let us not pretend that he submitted that apology for any other reason than to save his own skin. Society relishes nothing more than a repentant rake. The ladies will be throwing themselves at him with twice the vigor now. The gentlemen, however, will be throwing themselves at you."

"I do not want anyone throwing themselves at me," Isolde said with a chuckle, her imagination conjuring visions that were far too literal. "I just want to find the right gentleman for me, in my own time, but swift enough to appease my mother and brother."

Amelia dipped her chin to her chest, a bashful shade of pink coloring her cheeks. "I believe my own family has given up on me. I have been through three Seasons, and still have not had so much as a courtship. If I am not careful, they will drag me to a matchmaker or make arrangements themselves. I likely have another Season to search for myself, if I am lucky, but even that could change at any moment."

"As long as you have me and Isolde, you will never be forced into a marriage of convenience," Valery said fiercely, as protective as a sister to her friend.

Isolde nodded. "I quite agree."

Although, what power would we really have to stop such a thing? She did not say that part out loud, for blunt honesty was rarely a kindness.

"I fear I have ruined the mood," Amelia said sadly, her smile tight. "Come, let us speak of cheerier things. Tell us about His Grace's face when he stepped into the Montrose's drawing room again."

Isolde's own cheeks flushed with heat. "I could not. I should hate for you to grow tired of my very best tale."

"Oh, but you must tell it to my cousin when she arrives in London!" Valery interjected eagerly. "I cannot wait for you to meet her, Isolde. I think you shall like Beatrice very much—everyone does."

Amelia raised a hand. "Everyone who is a woman does. Gentlemen are… not so fond of her."

"She has a sharp tongue, you see," Valery said proudly. "I have nary met a wittier individual, nor one who causes gentlemen such distress. They are lured in by her exceptional beauty, and within minutes of being in her company, they are making excuses to run away. Quite formidable."

Amelia halted beneath the shade of a plane tree, leaning against the rough trunk for a moment, toying with the ribbon at her waist. "But you have told her to be more… amenable for my brother's dinner party, have you not? I adore Beatrice, you know that I do, but I would hate for there to be any… um… difficulty. If Martin deems her to be a bad influence, he will forbid me from venturing out with you when she is here. Goodness, he might even forbid me from seeing you when Beatrice is not here, Valery."

Obvious panic made Amelia's pretty face fall, twirling the loose end of the ribbon's bow around and around her forefinger with increasing agitation. Isolde knew that Amelia did not have many friends—indeed, she only really seemed to spend time with Isolde and Valery—so it would be a devastating blow to lose even one of her dear companions.

"Fear not," Valery said, taking both of Amelia's hands in hers. "I have spoken at length with Beatrice. I have instructed her to be on her best, most subdued behavior, and she has promised me that she will fulfil that duty."

Amelia blew out a nervous breath, her chest rising and falling frantically. "I do not feel so well," she mumbled, sliding down the tree trunk until she was sitting, her knees to her chest. "Forgive me. I need but a moment and I will be well again."

"Are you dizzy?" Isolde jumped in, concerned for her dearest friend.

Amelia nodded slowly, scrunching her eyes shut. "The world is spinning somewhat."

"Wait here," Isolde said. "I shall fetch you something to drink."

She hurried off in the direction of a barrow boy, who had been offering out tin cups of water in exchange for a farthing, realizing as she quickened her pace that she had not brought her coin purse with her. Still, she hoped she might be able to convince him.

"What are you doing?" Edmund's firm hand closed around her wrist, halting her in her tracks.

Isolde tugged her hand free and gestured back to the tree, where her mother had just caught up to the two other girls. "Amelia is not feeling well. I mean to fetch her some water, if that is not disagreeable to you? I apologize; I forgot that I was supposed to ask my jailer first."

Edmund folded his hands behind his back and dipped his head. "Considering it is a matter of great importance, I will assist you. I cannot have ladies fainting under my guardianship."

"I would have thought you were used to ladies fainting in front of you by now," Isolde remarked a note too sharply, waving her hand around the sprawling expanse of the lush, sun-warmed park.

Wherever she looked, ladies were staring and fanning their faces. It was the same no matter where Edmund went, for though he was a tremendous thorn in her side, the rest of society's ladies saw only the roses of his unfairly handsome good looks and the possibility of being his Duchess.

"Actually, I find it rather burdensome," Edmund replied, surprising her. "They are rarely actually fainting, and as I cannot just leave them in a swoon, lest I be judged unfeeling, I am expected to be chivalrous. I must stay with them, fan them, bring them water, help them to their feet, and far too often I have been forced to carry them to a quieter room—usually at the behest of a scheming mother."

Quite remarkably, Isolde found herself laughing. A true laugh, not the demure artifice that had been drummed into her during her ‘how to be a lady' lessons.

"That is not why you ran away to the Continent for almost two years, is it?" she asked, smiling. She did not add that he had also avoided coming to Grayling House a year prior to that, though she knew Vincent had invited him. There had been an argument, she had asked her brother not to let Edmund visit, and he had not—something which had never made sense to her, because he was not one to ever obey her wishes.

"Partially," Edmund replied. "My arms needed the rest."

She cast him a curious, sideways glance, astounded that he had just made a joke in her presence. "Forgive me, Your Grace, I did not realize you were in possession of a sense of humor."

He shrugged. "I was not speaking in jest, though my arms were rather a metaphor for my duties."

"Ah… what a pity," she remarked. "I thought, perhaps, I was discovering something new about you."