Chapter Sixteen

"It was awful, Viola, absolutely awful," Isolde muttered, eyes on the bookshelves. There was something so soothing about book spines.

They were at Maria's library, of course. Maria and her husband were not manning the library today, and had instead left a pair of nervous-looking young women in charge.

Viola sighed, pushing her spectacles up on her nose. "I'm sorry, Isolde. Can't you just be firm with your parents, and tell them you aren't interested in the slightest?"

"I've tried that. They all seem to think I'll change my mind. I'm starting to believe that I'm the mad one."

"Well, we know you aren't."

"I simply had to escape the confines of the house, you see. I am utterly weary of being dictated to regarding my identity and my desires for life. It is most unjust."

Viola made a soothing clucking noise with her tongue and reached out to pat Isolde's shoulder.

"This shall pass, you know. Seasons don't last forever. Just keep refusing Lord Raisin, and he'll get tired eventually."

"I'd like to think so, but he hasn't gotten tired so far."

The bell hanging at the door tinkled, and both women automatically glanced over their shoulders.

It was the middle of the day, and the library was quiet. There were a few ladies browsing the shelves, and one gentleman who appeared to be on the brink of tears, reading a mathematical text in the corner.

A little girl came in, glancing nervously around. She appeared to be around thirteen years old, neatly dressed, and tugging awkwardly at one long plait.

It was fairly clear that it was the girl's first time in the library. She stood in the doorway, peering around, unsure of where to start. The two girls who were meant to be watching the library made no move to greet the girl.

Biting back a sigh, Isolde strode across the room.

"Welcome, my dear," she said, flashing a smile. "Have you a subscription? You won't be allowed to take books home if you don't have a subscription."

The girl nodded, looking relieved, and took out a new card. Isolde inspected it and handed it back.

"How lovely. I bet you're excited, then?"

"Oh, very much. I like the Lady Author who writes those funny, witty books. I just read her newest one, Pride and Prejudice. Do you know it?"

Isolde broke into a wide smile. "I certainly do. Would you like some other recommendations?"

"Yes, please."

"Are you here by yourself? Don't you have a mother or a sister here to watch you?"

"I'm alright by myself," the girl said defensively. "My brother brought me here, and he said to wait until he comes back for me."

"I see. Well, you can call me Isolde. What's your name."

"My name is Amelia."

Perhaps Isolde ought to have put two-and-two together, but in the end, she and Amelia had been talking and browsing the shelves for close to half an hour before the bell tinkled again, heralding another visitor.

Amelia glanced over her shoulder, and her face lit up.

"Clayton! There you are!"

Isolde's heart sank before she even turned around.

Just as she'd expected, Viscount Henley stood there, broad shoulders filling the doorway, his cape speckled with waterdrops from the lightly falling rain outside. His gaze met hers, and Isolde suddenly felt as though there was a hook lodged in her gut, and when he looked at her, somebody gave the hook a slow but steady tug. It was the strangest feeling, but not an unpleasant one.

Oh, curses, Isolde thought.

"Lady Isolde," the viscount managed at last. "I see you've been taking care of my sister."

Amelia had slipped her hand into her brother's and was beaming up at him in adoration.

"I made some recommendations, yes," Isolde answered. Her heart was pounding, so loud she was sure he could hear it. Why was the library so quiet?

"I have three books," Amelia confided. "I want to read them all at once, actually. I'll keep them in my room so Papa doesn't find them, but I'll show them to Mama."

The viscount glanced sharply at Isolde, as if she might be the only person in London who didn't know how the Earl of Wrenwood treated his family.

"Well, I'm glad," he said at last. "Now, it's raining, so I assume you don't want ice cream?"

Amelia laughed. "No, I definitely do want ice cream! Please, please, please, please!"

"Very well, very well. Gunter's it is."

Amelia hesitated, glancing over at Isolde. She knew what was coming next but couldn't quite stop it in time.

"Can Isolde come, too?"

The viscount glanced at Isolde, and their eyes met uncomfortably. He cleared his throat.

"Of course, she is more than welcome."

"No, thank you," Isolde answered smoothly. "I don't want to intrude."

Amelia glanced up at her brother, looking disappointed. He smiled wryly.

"I must insist, Lady Isolde. We would very much enjoy your company. I have it on good authority that you, too, enjoy ice cream."

She bit back a smile. Amelia was beaming hopefully up at her, and there was something in the viscount's unblinking stare that made her feel… strange. That was the only word for it. Strange.

"Very well," she managed at last. "But I must take my friend with me."

They all glanced over to where Viola sat in the corner, reading a book. Feeling eyes on her, she glanced up, blinking in confusion at them.

"What is it?" she inquired, casting a wary glance at the viscount. "Why do you all regard me so? What is amiss?'

***

Gunter's tearoom was full to bursting, as usual. A waiter showed them to a table for four by the window, and took their orders. To Isolde's chagrin, the viscount insisted on paying for everybody's ices.

If Viola was surprised to be whisked away from the library in the company of a man Isolde claimed to despise, she didn't show it.

Only once, when the viscount was occupied in talking to his sister, did she lean over and whisper to Isolde.

"This won't help the gossip, you know."

Isolde bit her lip. "I know. But I won't allow myself to live in fear of what others think. If people want to put their faith in those gossips, they can do so, but frankly, I want some ice cream, and perhaps a cup of tea to go with it."

Viola smiled wryly. "This is why you're the bravest of us all, Isolde."

Isolde turned away from her friend to find the viscount looking at her. Watching her with an unreadable expression. When their eyes met, he flashed a grin.

"How is your tea, Lady Isolde? And your ice?"

"Very nice, thank you."

"Did you enjoy the literary evening, then?" Viola asked, aiming the question at the viscount. "I understand that you hadn't attended one before."

"No, indeed. It was a remarkable experience. I have been invited ahead of time to the next one, and I certainly intend to go."

"And you enjoy the Lady Author we discussed?" Viola pressed. "The author of Pride and Prejudice?"

"Very much so. Why do you ask?"

She sighed. "Some gentlemen have said they are women's books, and therefore beneath the notice of men."

"Goodness," the viscount remarked, taking a sip of tea. "What a narrow world they must live in, then."

Viola's expression brightened. It was exactly the right thing to say.

"Yes, I agree! In fact, I was saying just the other day – Isolde, do you remember? – that if gentlemen would only…"

She trailed off, staring at something out of the window, and Isolde followed her gaze.

At first, all she saw was a wet street, pavements glistening grey, and a few huddled-over people hurrying about their business.

And then she saw the man, standing across the road, glaring balefully at them.

Her heart sank.

"Wretched Lord Raisin," she murmured.

The viscount's eyebrows flew up. "I beg your pardon? What did you say? Are there raisins…"

She shook her head, returning her attention to her ice and tea.

"He's coming over," Viola said, sighing.

"Forgive me," Isolde said, flashing a nervous smile. "I… I think an acquaintance might have spotted me. I tried to pretend I hadn't seen him – shocking, I know – but I believe he's coming over anyway."

The viscount leaned back in his chair, lips pursed. "That would be terribly rude of him."

Isolde sighed. "Yes, I know."

The door opened abruptly, bell tinkling, and she heard sharp voices as Lord Raisin pushed past the waiter. He came stamping over to stand behind the table.

Slowly, everybody tilted their head to look up at him.

"When I sent you a note this morning," Lord Raisin snapped, not bothering to introduce himself to anyone, "You informed me that you were busy."

Isolde clenched her jaw. "I am busy. I had plans to attend the library with my friend, and then Viscount Henley was good enough to invite us for ices."

"You might have said as much. I would have joined you. I could have taken you for ices, if you had a fancy for it."

She swallowed hard. People were looking at them, attracted by the sound of Lord Raisin's raised voice and the steady drip-drip of his wet clothes on the clean, dry floor.

"I was not aware I had to provide an itinerary of my day to you, Lord Raisin."

The viscount got smoothly to his feet, and extended a hand.

"Lord Raisin," he said, smiling calmly. "What a pleasure. Care to join us? I think perhaps the staff will insist upon you removing your wet cloak, but I'm sure a chair can be added."

Lord Raisin sneered. "What, and have you buy me ices, too?"

"If you like," the viscount responded, seeming to be oblivious to Lord Raisin's sarcasm. "Shall I summon a waiter?"

"No, thank you," Lord Raison snapped, and turned to face Isolde again. "If you are finished here, I'll escort you home. I'm sure that the dear Duchess is waiting for your return."

Now everybody was looking. The waiters had given up all pretence of serving others, and were watching, faces agog. People at the neighbouring tables were frozen, clearly straining their ears to hear, and others further off craned their necks.

This, Isolde thought with clarity, is going to be in the scandal sheets tomorrow.

It was that thought, rather than anything else, that was the final straw.

"No, thank you, Lord Raisin," she answered, voice clipped, not bothering to speak in a hushed tone. "As you can see, I haven't finished my ice, or my tea. If you don't wish to join us, I think perhaps you should leave. You are shedding water all over the floor, and someone is bound to slip."

Lord Raisin blinked. "I'm surprised to find you here, Lady Isolde. In this company."

The viscount stiffened at such an obvious insult. Amelia, who kept glancing from face to face in search of clues as to what was going on, wilted a little.

"That is entirely inappropriate," Isolde snarled, taken aback at the words coming out of her own mouth. "I think this has gone far enough, Lord Raisin. Good day to you."

She pointedly turned back to her tea. Opposite, the viscount slid back into his seat. He seemed to be hiding a smile.

"Well," Lord Raisin said, after an uncomfortable pause. "If you aren't ready to leave, I suppose I shall go."

"Yes, I think that's for the best," Viola piped up.

"I'll see you on Friday, then," Lord Raisin continued, ignoring Viola. "For Vauxhall. I'll pick you at six, shall I?"

He pointedly waited for Isolde to reply. She sighed.

"Yes, at six, Lord Raisin."

Her ice had begun to melt, losing its shape – it had been shaped as a bunch of grapes – and turning into a miserable little puddle at the bottom of her dish. The proximity to the ice had cooled her tea, too.

Just my luck.

Lord Raisin gave a last, irritated sigh, and stamped out. They watched him splash across the road and climb into a carriage waiting for him. Gradually, noise and chatter returned to the tearoom, but Isolde's humiliation did not subside. People were still staring at Isolde and the viscount with unabashed curiosity. It didn't bother him, but it certainly bothered her.

She'd lost her appetite.

"I… I think we ought to go," she said quietly, glancing at Viola. "I really should get home."

The viscount nodded. He rose to his feet as Isolde and Viola got up, and when she paused at the door, glancing back across the tearoom, he was still on his feet, watching her go.