Chapter 13

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

" Y ou!" The sharp voice echoed down the townhouse hallway, ricocheting across the walls of the entrance hall as Isolde removed her cloak.

She jumped in fright, startled so violently that she almost dropped the garment, but the footman she was handing it to reacted quickly, grabbing it before it could fall.

Rapid footsteps tapped along the pristine white tiles, heralding the arrival of a gentleman who had terrified Isolde for as long as she had known him.

"Good evening to you, Mr. Thorne," she said politely, dipping into a half curtsy.

"It is not a good evening," Martin Thorne replied, coming to a halt with his hands on his hips.

Being Amelia's older brother and heir to a viscountcy, Isolde put on her most courteous demeanor, not because she thought him to be a potential suitor, but to ensure that Amelia had an enjoyable night. The poor girl had enough to worry about with Valery's cousin, Beatrice, in attendance without Isolde taking umbrage with Martin's unpleasant attitude.

"Oh? How so? It smells absolutely wonderful in here, and what I can hear sounds like rather amiable chatter," Isolde pointed out sweetly.

Martin bristled. "I am certain I have told you before, but when the weather is too warm, I do not like Amelia to be out of doors. You are lucky she did not suffer anything worse than a mild headache."

"And she is lucky to have such a thoughtful, attentive brother." Isolde's smile grew more strained, aching her cheeks. "Surely, she does not still have a headache? It has been two days since I last saw her."

"That is beside the point," Martin muttered. "I understand that when ladies gather together there is an air of carelessness, but I would urge you not to be careless with my sister again."

A shadow fell across Isolde, and though she had her back turned to whoever had just stepped into the entrance hall behind her, she knew who it was. The fearsome presence of him thrummed up her spine, tickling the nape of her neck, as if he had just brushed his fingertips against that spot to sweep away a loose lock of hair.

"Mr. Thorne," a deep, familiar voice rumbled. "I do hope I did not mishear as I came through the door. It could not possibly be correct that you were chastising Lady Isolde, now, could it?"

Martin had to tilt his head up slightly to look at the newcomer, his alarmed, wide-eyed expression reminding Isolde of something that she could not quite recollect.

"Not chastising, no," Martin said in a hurry. "I was merely… making suggestions for her next outing with my sister. Indeed, I heard you were rather heroic in her moment of great need. I must thank you, deeply, for taking such excellent care of her."

Edmund moved to stand at Isolde's side, and though she did not peer up to look at him, she could tell that he was wearing one of his most unimpressed expressions. A look she knew well.

"You should thank Lady Isolde," Edmund said firmly.

"Well, of course, she was there. It is to be expected that a friend should help a friend, but when I heard that you had aided my sister, I was overcome with gratitude," Martin rambled, clasping his hands together. "Truly, that was a very pleasant surprise indeed, to learn of your good deed."

Edmund took a half step forward, casting Isolde in more of his shadow. "You mistake me, Mr. Thorne. I did nothing. And I would like you to thank Lady Isolde."

"Pardon?" Martin seemed confused, frowning as though Edmund was speaking in a foreign language.

" She was the one who had the idea to ask some ladies for refreshments, to aid your sister," Edmund replied. "So, thank her. I would hear it."

Martin's brow furrowed, his mouth pressed into an irritated line. Nevertheless, a few moments later, he dipped his head to Isolde and said stiffly, "Thank you for your kindness toward my sister. I am grateful to you for your swift thinking." He gestured up the hallway. "Would you please follow me? Dinner will begin shortly."

"The Dowager Countess has not yet appeared," Edmund said, causing another flicker of irritation to cross Martin's face. "She will not be long."

Martin forced a smile. "Then, let us wait." He glanced at Isolde. "Actually, if it is not too much trouble, would you be so kind as to go and find my sister in the dining room?" His attention flitted back to Edmund, his tone simpering as he continued, "I was hoping to speak with you alone, Your Grace. Only for a moment or two."

"I would be delighted," Isolde said, surprising herself as she looked to Edmund for his agreement.

He nodded discreetly, and Isolde did not need to be told twice, for though she did not much like Martin, she had been looking forward to seeing her friends and the fabled Beatrice all day.

Edmund would have preferred to be anywhere else, for he hated dinner parties at the best of times, and after Martin Thorne's brief ‘interrogation' in the entrance hall, he was even less inclined to have a nice time.

He thinks he is being clever. He thinks I cannot see right through him. But considering Edmund had found himself seated beside Amelia, any attempt at subtlety from Martin had unraveled. And that was without the talk Martin had tried to have with him.

"Have you had any success this Season? I suppose it is still rather early, but if the right lady were to come along, there is no reason to hesitate," Martin had said. "My father is unable to join us this evening, but I thought, if you are not otherwise engaged, that you might like to come to a smaller gathering next week, when he is in the city again."

"How small?" Edmund had asked, already suspecting the answer.

"Oh, well, it would just be you and me and my father. Perhaps a couple of friends, though everyone is so occupied with their own gatherings and parties that it is impossible to pin anyone down! You assuredly know what I mean," Martin had replied in earnest, glancing at the door every couple of seconds, probably to ensure that they were not interrupted by Julianna.

In the end, Edmund had told him that he would let him know in due course. Most gentlemen would have understood that as, "No, thank you," but it appeared to have bolstered some kind of determination in Martin. Some hope that he had no cause to have.

A soft murmur to his right diverted Edmund's distracted mind. "Pardon?" he said. "I am afraid I did not quite hear you."

Amelia's cheeks reddened, her gaze lowered to the napkin draped over her lap. "I asked if you were well, Your Grace."

"Very well, thank you. And you?"

"Quite well," she replied, puffing out an uneasy breath. Clearly, she was enjoying the evening as much as he was.

Taking pity on her, he cleared his throat. "The soup is very pleasant. You must have an excellent cook."

"Oh yes. I adore her. She makes the most delicious dishes," Amelia replied, her voice a little steadier.

Edmund paused, his attention drawn to the pair who sat opposite. He had been trying very hard not to look at Isolde, nor the gentleman seated beside her, but where he was struggling to think of anything to say to Amelia, the gentleman opposite appeared to have no difficulty engaging Isolde in conversation. And she, in turn, was responding with charming ease, her eyes bright, her smile genuine, her laughter somewhere between the artificial and the real thing.

"Tell me of your sisters," the gentleman, whom Edmund knew to be Noah Humphries, the Viscount of Mentrow, asked. The fellow's gaze was intent and interested, giving Isolde his full attention.

Isolde dabbed her lips with a napkin. "Well, the older of the two, Teresa, is one of the most intellectual people I have had the privilege of knowing. There is very little she does not know, and she reads so voraciously that one wonders if she sleeps at all. She is what I would call the peaceful one. The mediator."

"She sounds remarkable," Noah said, nothing disingenuous in his tone.

Edmund concentrated on the last of his soup, listening discreetly. He had sat through enough mornings in the Wilds' townhouse drawing room to know what signaled a good, worthy gentleman and also the opposite. He also liked to think he knew when Isolde was truly interested and when she was not.

She is enjoying this, he realized with a slight twinge of something like discomfort. Or, perhaps, the spoonful of soup had just gone down the wrong way.

Isolde nodded at Noah, smiling shyly. "She is, and I hope that when she enters society, she is able to find a gentleman of matching intellect. Someone who challenges her, someone who appreciates how wonderful she is. I can just imagine the educated arguments, the discussions, the way they would leave everyone else scratching their heads. That is what I want for her."

"I do not even know her, and I want that for her." Noah paused to sup a mouthful of soup, dabbed his mouth, and continued, "It is my belief that no one should settle for less than their ideal match, though I am not na?ve enough to think that always happens. Nevertheless, it should."

Isolde nodded. "I could not agree more. There would be far less discontent if everyone was at liberty to marry whomever stirred their heart and mind the most. But, as you say, it would be na?ve to think that everyone has the privilege of choice."

Lord Spofforth would have snorted at that. But Noah was nodding right along with Isolde, making attentive sounds of agreement. Edmund wished that he could show his assent too, for though he did not want to marry, he also did not think anyone should have to marry anyone they did not like. Instead, he washed down his soup with a gulp of wine and kept right on listening.

"And what of your other sister?" Noah prompted.

Isolde laughed, and Edmund had to fight the urge to join in with a chuckle. He liked to think of Prudence Wilds as the more terrifying successor to Isolde in her younger years. A force of nature, one always had to watch one's back whenever Prudence was around and in one of her mischievous moods.

"Ah, well…" Isolde hesitated, and Edmund braced himself for the true test of Noah's character.

If Isolde spoke of Prudence honestly, Noah's response would tell a great deal about him, and whether he was up to the task of being tied to the Wilds family. Whether he was brave enough, especially as some of Isolde's former naughtiness still existed.

"Prudence is the youngest of us," Isolde continued. "She is… remarkable in her own way, but I would be lying if I said she was always well behaved. I see it is a youthful sort of exuberance that often leans into mischief, with a creativity that defies belief on occasion, but her heart is good. She feels injustice and insult keenly, and I respect that, even though she makes me anxious about her future. At present, she has chased off twelve governesses, if that gives you some idea of her character."

She chuckled nervously, fidgeting with the napkin on her lap as she waited for Noah's reply. Edmund watched as subtly as he could, wondering how he would have responded to such a revelation if he were meeting Isolde for the first time.

I would probably ask why no one has disciplined her properly. He could not pretend otherwise, but knowing Prudence was different to hearing about her secondhand. He saw her more as a confused child who behaved the way she did as a means to gain attention from her mother, who left her mostly in the care of governesses.

Maybe, if their father was still alive, Prudence would not have been so wild, but there was no way of knowing.

"In that case, I hope I never give your youngest sister cause to dislike me," Noah said, surprising Edmund. "My own sister is very similar, and though I know I should not, I cannot help but be amused by her antics. It is partially my fault that she is half wild, but I would not have her any other way. It is better to be too spirited, I believe, than to have nothing to say, or to make oneself small to appease society expectations."

Edmund nearly forgot that he was supposed to be eavesdropping discreetly, for he had not anticipated such a considerate, understanding reply from Noah. He would not have expected such an answer from any gentleman, in truth. Yet, somehow, Noah had passed a test he did not even know he was part of.

You might just be the worthiest I have encountered.

Edmund should have been celebrating such a thing, trying to decide how to navigate the situation so that a courtship could begin without delay, knowing how thrilled Vincent would be, but the cheerful sensation would not come. In its place was a feeling similar to that of when a hunt was over, and all the excitement and purpose and camaraderie faded into nothing. A feeling he could not describe, but came close to remorse.

A feeling that was probably not useful for someone who was supposed to be helping to get Isolde married as quickly as possible.