Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

" W hat do you think of this?" Isolde asked, turning this way and that in front of the mirror, anxious about her attire. It had been three days since she had last seen Lord Spofforth, and she wanted their next meeting to be perfect—as much to prove a point to Edmund as anything else.

In the reflection, she looked at her sisters, one sprawled across the bed as if it were her own, while the other sat up on the window seat with her head firmly in a book. Neither sister could have been less interested if they tried.

Isolde said as much, whirling around to face them with her hand on her hip. "Please give me your opinion. I am in such a fluster that I fear nothing in my wardrobe is good enough. Will one of you not reassure me at least?"

Prudence sat up on the bed, arching an eyebrow. At three-and-ten, she had the ferocity of a terrier, the wit of a humorist, and the same lack of patience as a harried mother parading their unwed daughter around during their sixth Season. Indeed, Isolde had often wondered why their mother had not demanded the same duty and extensive education in etiquette from them.

Perhaps I seemed like the most malleable…

"I could give you my opinion, but whether or not you actually want to hear it is another matter," Prudence said, her lips curving in a mischievous smile.

Isolde rolled her eyes. "Be kind, Prudie."

"Ah, so when you said you wanted my opinion, you did not mean my honest opinion."

From the window seat, Teresa looked up. "Do not toy with her, Prudie," she scolded in her mild-mannered way. "You look beautiful, Isolde. You would look beautiful regardless of what you wore, but that shade of blue is particularly fetching. It matches your eyes."

"And we ought to start a wager as to how many gentlemen say precisely that at this garden party," Prudence interjected, chuckling. "What a lark to see how unoriginal they can be, while they will think they are masters of the compliment."

Isolde turned back to the mirror, somewhat reassured. "I shall inform you of how many say such a thing upon my return."

" Or you could convince Mama to let us come with you," Prudence said, shuffling to the edge of the bed. "I cannot bear the governess. I cannot bear to be cooped up in this townhouse while you have all the fun. I might chase the governess away out of spite if I cannot come with you."

Teresa cleared her throat and closed her book. "In five years, you can attend all the garden parties your heart desires, Prudie. Until then, you must find other amusements to occupy yourself, as I do."

"But I have found other amusements," Prudence insisted with mischief in her light blue eyes. "Scaring off governesses is as much my favorite pastime as reading is yours."

Isolde had to laugh, though their mother despaired of her youngest daughter. Prudence had become renowned among governesses for being something of a ‘challenge' and, as such, it had gotten harder to find one who was willing to take her on. Still, Prudence's creativity in chasing the governesses away was always a surprise worth hearing about.

"You will be nice to Miss Dexter," Isolde said, remembering herself. As the oldest sister, and with Vincent in Bath, she was supposed to be the voice of reason and discipline. "If she resigns while we are at the garden party, it would undoubtedly be the quickest you have managed to get a governess to do so, but please do think of Mama and behave. If you do not behave, I shall not divulge any of the gossip I hear at the party."

Prudence feigned a pout and flopped back onto Isolde's bed, staring up at the ceiling as she twiddled her thumbs.

"I need to hear you say that you will behave," Isolde insisted.

Prudence sat back up and pretended to salute. "I swear that I shall do my very best to behave for Miss Dexter. She is pleasant enough. I can give her at least a month to win me over before I endeavor to be rid of her."

"Thank you," Isolde said with a smile, smoothing her hands down the front of her skirts, thinking she quite liked the duck-egg blue day dress after all.

And not a moment too soon, as the girls' mother shouted up the stairs, "The carriage is waiting, Isolde! As is Edmund! Please do hurry yourself, dear!" There was a veiled threat in that last word that made Isolde chuckle to herself, indulging in a sliver of her bygone defiance.

"If I did not know any better, I would say you were deliberately keeping Edmund waiting," Prudence said slyly, propping herself up on her elbows as she raised another far too perceptive eyebrow. "Not stowing any strawberry tarts into your reticule, I hope. Actually… please do, and then tell me all about it!"

Teresa sighed wearily. "You should go, Isolde, before Prudie decides to stow her self into the back of the carriage."

"Not a terrible idea," Prudence said, putting a healthy dose of fear into Isolde's footsteps as she grabbed her reticule and hurried from the room. The last thing the garden party needed was Prudence running amok, and she would stow away if she thought she could get away with it.

"Coming, Mama!" Isolde called, hoping Edmund was suitably vexed by the delay. It would serve him right for acting superior and judgmental since her walk in the park with Lord Spofforth, and with the callers she had welcomed since.

"It is a fine day for it, is it not?" Julianna sighed contentedly, turning her face up to the hazy sunshine and closing her eyes, like she was the debutante and not the mother of one. "Breathe in that fresh air, Isolde. What a delight it is to be out of the city for a short while."

Edmund discreetly inhaled a breath of the countryside air, perfumed with the earthy-sweet scent of cut grass, balsam notes from the cedar trees that encircled Lord and Lady Montrose's manor, and the heady aroma of roses, coming from the charming bushes that climbed across the house's front porch. It smelled like home, a long time ago.

He glanced at Isolde, who appeared to be enjoying the same perfumed air, her eyes closing, an unbridled joy falling across her face as her chest rose and fell with her deep breaths. For reasons unknown, he could not stop watching her, alarmingly enchanted by that peace upon her face. Envious, even.

"You know, this would be a marvelous occasion to announce an engagement," Julianna said suddenly, snapping Edmund out of his trance. "Now, I am not one to steal another's thunder and, yes, this is Lord and Lady Montrose's gathering, but I doubt they would mind. Indeed, they might appreciate their fine residence being named in the papers along with the happy news."

Edmund squinted at Julianna, wondering if he had missed something. "Who is set to be engaged?"

"No one," Julianna replied with a wave of her hand, "but I just thought… Well, if I am to be honest, I think the two of you would make a rather lovely couple. You would not need to suffer the rigmarole of the marriage market, Isolde, and I know Vincent would be pleased, Edmund."

Edmund recoiled as if she had waved a saber at him instead, uncertain of whether to grimace or laugh. Moreover, he had to wonder if Julianna had imbibed something more than tea with her breakfast, for the notion was utter madness. She knew, as well as he and Isolde, that such a match was akin to throwing two lions into a cage and praying they would not kill each other.

"Mama, I told you it was too hot in the carriage," Isolde chimed in, her tone colored with an acerbic hue. "It has boiled your mind."

Julianna threw up her hands in mock surrender. "It was only a suggestion. You see, I had forgotten how difficult this time can be in a young lady's life. Watching you over the past few days, seeing how it is exhausted you, I merely thought you might forgo it altogether and wed someone you at least know well. There is merit in that."

"And there is merit in a love match," Isolde replied curtly. "For years you have drummed that into my head, insisting that I should be happy with a man I truly love, and who truly loves me in return. How can you give up after a few days? Fortunately, I have more mettle than you, Mama. I am not in the least bit exhausted—quite the opposite, in fact."

Edmund's forehead began to furrow into a frown, but he caught it before it could become an expression of concern, disciplining it back into blankness. He had not forgotten that Isolde had invited Lord Spofforth to the garden party and realized with a strange unease in his chest that that was likely why she had dressed so prettily.

Her dark blonde hair, the color of fresh honey catching summer sunlight, had been braided and fashioned into a bun, studded with forget-me-nots. Her plump cheeks were rosy, complementing her fair complexion, and the shade of her lips was a little darker than usual, if he was not mistaken.

All of that for the benefit of a most unworthy man.

"It is an important moment in a society lady's life," Edmund said drily. "Lady Isolde is capable of choosing well; I am sure."

Isolde flashed him a look as if waiting for his next insult, but he said nothing, for he had nothing more to say. By the end of the garden party, she would see that he was right—that Lord Spofforth would never be worthy of her, and that her judgment was not as keen as she thought it was.

Of that , he was sure.