Chapter Seventeen

Clayton lowered himself back into his seat, staring at the door as if he thought Isolde might come back in.

She didn't, of course.

Amelia, with the elasticity of youth, had forgotten about the uncomfortable meeting already, and was eating her half-forgotten ice quite happily.

Biting back a sigh, Clayton rubbed his temples. He was getting a headache.

"I like Lady Isolde," Amelia volunteered, after a moment or two.

So do I, he thought, but contented himself with an encouraging smile.

"I think you should marry her as soon as possible."

It took a moment or two for the words to sink in, but once they did, Clayton flinched, jerking upright.

"What did you say, Amelia?"

"I said," Amelia answered, quite unperturbed, "that you should marry Lady Isolde as soon as you can. I bet lots of gentlemen want to marry her."

He cleared his throat. "Amelia, I'm not sure what sort of gossip you've been listening to, or where you've gotten this idea, but…"

His half-sister gave him a flat, unimpressed stare. "I'm thirteen, Clayton. I don't listen to gossip, and nobody tells me anything."

"Then why on earth would you think…"

"I have eyes, you know. You kept staring at her all the time, even when she was just eating her ice. I might have thought it annoyed her, except that she was looking at you, too."

Clayton felt his cheeks start to burn. There was nothing like a child to make a person feel thoroughly uncomfortable, with no more excuses to hide behind.

"There were only four of us at the table," he heard himself say, "so it isn't that strange for me to look at her."

Amelia finished the last of her ice and reached for her cup of tea.

"You like her, don't you?" she said, and it sounded more like a statement than anything else.

He glanced around at the other patrons. Now that the Ice Queen and her entourage had gone, they seemed to have lost interest in him. Some of them shot him quick, curious glances, but whenever he met their eyes, they hastily glanced away. Nobody was listening in, at least.

It didn't matter, though. Lord Raisin's ridiculous display would have been noted, and conversely, it would be Lady Isolde who would pay the price for his nonsense.

It wasn't fair. None of it was fair.

"I find her to be an intelligent and admirable woman," he said firmly. "And that is all you need to know."

He tried to flash what he hoped was a stern look at his younger sister, but Amelia only stared back at him, wholly unimpressed.

"I am not a fool, I assure you. And, for that matter, nor is she. May I trouble you for another piece of ice?"

Clayton blinked at that, not entirely sure how to respond.

Well, there was really only one response he could give.

"Of course you can have another ice," he said.

***

At least half of the carriage ride home was spent in silence.

Isolde kept running the events of the tearoom over and over in her mind. She cringed anew at Lord Raisin's nonsense, recalling the flat, angry expression in the viscount's eyes.

Was it directed at her or Lord Raisin? She wasn't entirely sure.

He'd probably just got round to forgiving me for making him the subject of Society gossip, she thought bitterly.

Outside, the rain was falling heavier than ever. The carriage was going to drop Viola off at home, and then take Isolde home. She found her heart sinking when she thought of home. Somehow or other, the conversation would always twist around to Lord Raisin, with her parents talking about his virtues and what a fine man he was. It was insufferable.

James was out frequently, enjoying London and catching up with friends. Isolde missed him. He'd promised to come to Vauxhall, at least. Perhaps if he saw how awful Lord Raisin could be, he would side with her against their parents.

"He has an affection for you, you know," Viola said quietly, breaking the silence.

Isolde frowned. "Might I inquire what you are referring to?"

Viola smoothed out her gloves, lying folded on her knee.

"I'm talking about Viscount Henley. I do believe he's falling in love with you."

For a moment, Isolde was sure that she'd imagined it. Surely Viola had not just said that.

"What," she said, trying to sound calm, "are you talking about?"

Viola gave her a flat look. "He extended an invitation for ices, and throughout our outing, he could not help but observe your interaction with his dear sister – upon whom he clearly dotes, which augurs well for his character, I might add. He graciously paid for our ices and bore my presence with commendable forbearance, all in deference to your insistence on my attendance. Meanwhile, he regarded you with an expression of awe, as if he had never before encountered a lady of such distinction. Shall I continue?"

"None of that signifies anything," she asserted. "The viscount is quite the gallant. A notorious libertine, as we are all aware."

"This situation is indeed distinct, Isolde. I urge you to contemplate it earnestly. I understand your aversion to the idea of marrying Lord Raisin—indeed, I share your sentiments. However, a gentleman of the viscount's calibre… well, that would constitute an entirely different proposition, would it not? He is undeniably handsome, and possesses such charm."

A lump had formed in Isolde's throat.

I wonder if my mother thought that my father was handsome and charming. Perhaps he bought her an ice or two and smiled benignly across a table. Perhaps, when her heart skipped a beat at the sight of him or her breath caught in her throat, he noticed, and smiled.

Maybe she felt as if she were drowning, like I am. Drowning, but in a good way.

Perhaps she thought he felt the same. No, she must have been sure of it. And yet…

"I would never lose my heart to a man like the viscount," she said shortly.

Viola frowned. "Isolde, I didn't mean…"

"No, let me finish, please. Women are ruined by men like him."

"That's a harsh accusation."

"Is it? Is it not the case that my name has been thoroughly besmirched on account of his actions? Have I not been rendered a subject of ridicule? Offer him but a modicum of indulgence, and he shall seize upon it with a voracity that knows no bounds. Pray consider how much more grievous my situation would be had I entertained his insipid flirtations. No, Viola, I would sooner meet my demise than consent to wed a man of his ilk."

Viola nibbled her lower lip, looking worried. "I didn't mean to upset you."

She sighed. "You didn't upset me, my dear friend. But I don't want to talk about this again, if you don't mind. Not ever."