Chapter 14

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

A s Isolde proceeded to ask Noah about his sister, utterly invested in the gentleman, Edmund became aware of hissed muttering to his right.

Martin was seated on the other side of Amelia, and it appeared he was not too happy with his sister's quietude, nor her reluctance to be the one to force a conversation that went nowhere.

"Ask him about his travels to the Continent," Martin rasped, nudging Amelia rather hard in the arm. So hard, in fact, that she bumped into Edmund's side.

He glanced down at her, a spike of anger piercing through his chest. If there was one thing he could not tolerate, it was cruelty, especially from a brother. To him, there was barely anything more precious than a sibling.

"Are you well?" he asked Amelia.

She nodded sharply, eyes cast down, twisting her napkin into knots.

Edmund looked across at Martin, flashing him a dark look. "Did you have something to say, Mr. Thorne?"

"Me?" Martin waved a dismissive hand. "Not at all. It is Amelia who wishes to ask you about your adventures on the Continent, but she is so very shy, you see. Once you are acquainted with her, however, you will find her to be the most excellent company."

A muscle twitched in Edmund's jaw. "Maybe she is shy, maybe she has no interest in speaking with me, which is perfectly acceptable. I would not want her to talk to me if she does not want to."

"Does not want to? Nonsense!" Martin gasped, shaking his head. "Of course she is interested in speaking with you. Are you not, Amelia?"

Amelia raised her gaze to Edmund, her cheeks ablaze, her eyes gleaming with desperation. "It would be my honor to converse with you," she said quietly, and not at all believably.

"You are uncomfortable," Edmund whispered. "You do not have to do anything your brother commands. Eat your dinner in peace if that is your preference. I do not mind, either way."

He realized his hypocrisy a moment later, remembering Isolde's speech about duty and burdens. Had he ever paused to ask her if marriage was something she actually wanted for herself? Had he ever asked what sort of gentleman she would choose if she could?

She does have someone in mind, he recalled, his gaze darting to Isolde and Noah.

They were slightly turned in toward each other, as if they were in their own world, apart from the rest of the long, mahogany dinner table. Isolde was positively glowing with contentment, laughing and smiling and chattering at her leisure, all of it genuine, all of it brought out of her by Noah's words and questions. And he looked just as enamored, like he already thought Isolde was the ‘ideal match' he had spoken about.

It left an unpleasant, tight feeling in the pit of Edmund's stomach. No one could look like they were falling in love with someone that quickly. It had to be a gentleman's trick, to snare the interest of the most beautiful debutante of the Season.

"I like the theater more than I like the opera," Noah was saying brightly. "Call me a philistine, but I find the opera too shrill and too bewildering. I realize there are many who cannot understand Shakespeare, but I feel the same way about the opera. If my Italian was better, perhaps I would feel differently, but my Italian is atrocious."

"Were you a troublesome student in your youth?" Edmund heard himself saying, interrupting a conversation that had nothing to do with him. He could not stop it, like a madness had taken over his tongue.

Noah turned to look at Edmund in surprise, frowning a little. "Not at all, Your Grace. I was a very diligent student, for the most part, but there are disciplines in everyone's life, I like to think, where there are greater struggles." He flashed a sweet smile at Isolde. "Your sister, of course, is likely exempt from that."

"She has no struggles whatsoever when it comes to education," Isolde agreed, concentrating solely on him. "However, I would say that she has some difficulty with social education. She does not tolerate idle conversation well, she does not much like social occasions, and she gets too embarrassed when it comes to dancing. Oftentimes, I have heard her describe herself as having two left feet."

"We all have our supposed flaws, Your Grace," Noah said, returning his attention to Edmund with a peaceable smile. No hint of satisfaction or triumph to be seen. "Languages have always been my difficulty. No matter how hard I try, I cannot retain much. Italian and French, most of all."

Isolde, however, did not hesitate to cast Edmund a triumphant smile. " I have never been much good at arithmetic. The numbers always… tumble together and confuse my mind. It caused my governesses no end of dismay, but I believe the heavens are fair—I dance fairly well, I sing favorably, I paint well, I speak well in company, but I cannot balance a ledger. My sister can do everything well, except for dancing and speaking in company."

"We shall have to substantiate that after dinner," Noah said, eyes twinkling. "A dance, perhaps, if you are agreeable?"

Isolde clasped a hand to her chest, the gesture twisting that unusual feeling in Edmund's stomach for a second time. "If there is dancing to be had, Lord Mentrow, I would be delighted."

"But if one has struggles with certain things, should one not apply themselves more determinedly until it is not a struggle any longer?" Edmund jumped in, drinking down what was left in his wine glass, while the servants began to move in to take away the soup bowls for the next course.

Noah raised a curious eyebrow. "I imagine there are many who would believe that, and I have the utmost respect for such people. To my shame, I choose to avoid what I find difficult."

"And if you had a wife who enjoyed the opera," Edmund pressed, "would you leave her to attend alone, or would you learn to favor it for her sake?"

Noah chuckled softly. "I have heard that love can make a gentleman relish anything. I hope that love for my wife, whoever she might be, would have the same transformative effect."

"What of your difficulties?" Isolde said suddenly, flashing a warning look at Edmund, as if to say, What are you doing?

In truth, he did not know what he was doing. He just kept talking, no longer in control of his voice.

"I have not thought about it much," Edmund replied firmly. "I am not saying I do not have any weaknesses, but I would have to think about it first."

Isolde nodded. "Then, perhaps you should do that while we wait for the next course." Her eyes settled on Amelia. "Perhaps you might discuss that very subject with my dear friend, though I daresay Amelia does not have any flaws at all. Oh, Lord Mentrow, you have never heard anyone more accomplished on the pianoforte."

"I am already in the midst of a conversation," Edmund replied. "I have no need to divert my attention."

Isolde's gaze hardened, her hand curling around the stem of her wine glass. "It is polite to speak to whomever is seated beside you, Your Grace," she said pointedly. "It is not polite to interrupt across the table."

Her words were like a lantern being ignited in a darkened room, shining a glow upon Edmund's inappropriate behavior. He sat back in his chair, a shiver of concern rippling down his spine. It was not like him at all to act so out of character, intervening where he had not been invited to speak, ignoring etiquette, shunning societal expectations.

He dipped his head. "Apologies. You are quite right, Lady Isolde. Having been your temporary guardian for a while, I overstepped. Please, continue as you were."

"Temporary guardian?" Noah looked to Isolde for explanation.

She smiled back, though the expression was not as comfortable as it had been before. "My brother has gone to Bath to tend to some business, and as His Grace and my brother are dear friends, His Grace agreed to be my guardian until my brother's return."

"What a generous thing to do. I hope that, if I ever find myself in such a situation, that my own dear friends would not hesitate to take on such a role," Noah said, not missing a moment to say the right thing and be every bit the perfect gentleman. What was worse, it did not seem to be fake.

After dinner, the gentlemen were led into the library that served as a smoking room, where brandy and cigars were to be enjoyed. The ladies went on to the drawing room to do whatever it was that ladies did when the gentlemen were not present, but even in their absence—more specifically, Isolde's absence—Edmund found his thoughts drifting to her.

Nevertheless, he did his best to behave normally, engaging in conversation with the other gentlemen. The only one who gained a wall of stony silence was Martin, who would not be dissuaded from trying to get Edmund to begin a pursuit of Amelia. And the only one who did not try to engage Edmund in conversation was Noah, which was likely a good thing.

It had felt like the longest hour of Edmund's life, a jolt of relief cutting through him when Martin announced that they were all going to reunite with the ladies.

"Amelia? Amelia, where are you?" Martin barked upon entering the drawing room, where the ladies had all fallen silent, as if they had been in the middle of talking about him.

Amelia, head bowed, shuffled toward her brother.

Meanwhile, Edmund's eyes found Isolde, who had not so much as glanced in his direction.

"There you are." Martin puffed his chest, casting a pointed look at Edmund, who had no idea why. "Amelia, will you play the pianoforte for us? We ought to have some dancing, and you play so very, very well."

Amelia immediately began to fidget with the capped sleeve of her jade green gown. "Now? In front of everyone?" she murmured.

"Of course," Martin replied sharply. "Show these fine people how excellent you are."

By "fine people," Edmund knew that Martin meant him. The man was determined; Edmund had to give him that.

With a barely concealed grimace, Amelia padded over to the beautiful, sleek pianoforte and sat down on the cushioned bench. At that same moment, Isolde hurried over with Valery, and another woman that Edmund did not recognize. Whispers were exchanged and Amelia's face brightened, a smile curving her lips as she flexed her hands and began to play.

Only then did Isolde look in Edmund's direction, but quickly looked away again. But with that fleeting glimpse, Edmund's body tensed, uncertain of the meaning behind it.

In fairness to Martin, Amelia was a very accomplished player of the pianoforte, executing a soft, melancholic ballad with exceptional skill and even a rather astounding amount of emotion. So much so, that Edmund found himself rather moved by dramatic rise and fall of the music, yet his gaze was not fixed upon Amelia, but Isolde.

She must think me a fool, he reasoned, knowing he would deserve it after the way he had acted at the dinner table.

He was still observing her at a safe distance when the movement of another figure caught his eye: Noah, pausing to talk to Julianna.

"Of course you may, Lord Mentrow!" Julianna cried, taking hold of Noah's hand and shaking it vigorously, before giving him a firm shove in the direction of Isolde.

Edmund suspected he should intervene, as Isolde's unofficial guardian, but instead he tracked Noah's proud stride to the pianoforte. There, Noah smiled and offered out his hand to Isolde, before leaning down to say something to Amelia, who smiled back and immediately flowed into a jaunty tune—the kind made for dancing.

With a coy demeanor, Isolde accepted Noah's proffered hand. She had never looked more radiant, her eyes gleaming, her cheeks rosy, her smile so white and beaming that it struck an odd blow to Edmund's chest. A sensation that was not unfamiliar but had not plagued him in many years. Envy.

Envy of Noah's ability to be so at ease and so well-liked, Edmund told himself, for he would not accept any other explanation.

He had felt the same way when he first became the Duke of Davenport, left all alone in the world to navigate the change. He had envied Vincent and his family. He had envied their ease with one another. He had envied Vincent's ability to take his own inheritance in his stride. He had envied all the things he no longer had or could never have. But he had learned how to overcome that, in time, and would do so again.

As Noah and Isolde took to the impromptu dance floor, Edmund put on a blank expression and folded his arms across his chest as he took a seat by the terrace doors. Anyone watching might have thought he was bored.

She was laughing already as her dance with Noah began. They held hands and crossed their arms in front of each other, moving into a promenade that held the drawing room rapt. Valery had her own hands clasped, wearing an expression of admiration, while the unknown woman at her side truly did look bored.

To the rhythm of the excellent music, Isolde and Noah bowed and curtseyed to one another, before beginning a series of slow turns, their palms joined in the center. All the while, they smiled, their mouths moving in a conversation that no one else could hear.

What are they saying? Edmund squinted, trying to figure it out, but he had never been much good at reading lips.

As the couple turned, Isolde's gaze drifted over Noah's shoulder, catching Edmund's eye. Again, she looked away quickly, returning her attention to her partner.

The pair ebbed and flowed gracefully, moving together and then apart, Noah dancing around her in a half circle before Isolde echoed the step. Even to Edmund's eyes, he could see how perfectly matched they were, neither of them aware of anything but the other person.

I should leave her to it…

Discreetly, Edmund got up and stepped out onto the terrace, determined to rid himself of the uncomfortable, envious feeling that swelled within him, as quickly as possible. It would pass as it had done before.

It had to.