Chapter Eighteen

Vauxhall Gardens, as everybody knew, only came alive at night.

Even from a distance, Isolde could see the lights and hear the noise. Aside from countless torches, braziers, and lanterns marking out the paths, there were endless strings of tiny candles hanging above their heads, covered by coloured glass jars. The effect was like hundreds – no, thousands – of fireflies hovering above them, filling the world with light.

The breeze blew into Isolde's face, carrying the scent of pies, sweets, marzipan, and other sweet and savoury delights, all waiting for them in the food stalls of Vauxhall Gardens. There were special pavilions there too, sheltered and waited on by diligent attendants, where gentlemen and ladies could sit and eat full meals out in the open.

If they had coin to pay for it, of course.

Their boat inched further down the river, heading towards the piers set out for that very purpose. There were dozens of other boats, and she could see shadowy shapes moving along the riverbank – the common folk loved Vauxhall gardens, too.

"Quite a sight, is it not?" Lord Raisin said, right in her ear, and Isolde stiffened.

She'd taken a seat in the prow of the boat, in hopes of avoiding conversation with the man, but Lord Raisin had never been one to take a hint.

"Yes, very exciting," she said, as coldly as she dared. Beatrice had made it clear that there would be no last-minute megrims saving Isolde from their outing. Duty, she'd called it.

Frankly, Isolde didn't think that Vauxhall Gardens should ever be reduced to a painful, boring duty, but here she was. Despite herself, however, there was a twinge of excitement. Vauxhall was like fairyland, when it was at its best.

The boat slid alongside the pier, and Lord Raisin bounced out first, keen to hand everybody out onto dry land. Isolde was obliged to accept his help, and noticed with resignation that he hung onto her gloved hand for much longer than he should.

James, climbing out of the boat behind her, did not take Lord Raisin's hand. To Isolde's relief, he slipped his arm through hers before the other man could claim her.

"I shall take a turn with my sister for a while," he announced to no one in particular, and Isolde just had time to take in the expression of dismay on Lord Raisin's face, before James turned her towards the glittering lights of Vauxhall and began to walk ahead of the others.

"Allow me to hazard a guess," Isolde remarked softly, once they had put a modest distance between themselves and the other three, "Mama instructed you to engage in conversation with me."

James gave a sigh. "You could do worse than Lord Raisin."

"I could also do a great deal better."

"He's a placid enough man. You could manage him easily, I should think."

"I don't want a man I can manage. Besides, there's a streak of spite in him that I don't like."

"Spite?" James blinked down at her. "I've never seen anything like that."

Isolde thought back to the Ice Queen comment, and Lord Raisin's mulish resentment on their curricle ride home. She said nothing, however. There was no point ruining the evening, and James was looking forward to the trip to Vauxhall, after his time abroad.

"I have always maintained that I have no desire for matrimony," Isolde murmured. "Was I not heard?"

"It is far more advantageous for young ladies to enter into matrimony, you see. When dear Mama and Papa are no longer with us, you shall find yourself in a far less prosperous situation than to which you have grown accustomed."

"I won't be poor, James."

"No," he acknowledged, "But you shan't inhabit the same circles you are accustomed to. Spinsters do not, you know. I recall stating my intent never to wed, do you remember? We both vowed to remain single for the entirety of our lives and to pursue adventures. Yet, I perceive now that such notions were but the folly of youth, Izzy. I recognise that I must eventually marry and I cannot say it distresses me overly much."

"Pray, tell me, James, how shall your existence transform upon your nuptials?" Isolde retorted. "It shall not, that I assure you. For me, everything shall be transformed. I harbour no aversion to the concept of matrimony, yet I would wish to wed a gentleman whom I… well, one that I genuinely desire to marry. Someone possessing intellect, kindness, and captivation, a man who draws me to him rather than repelling me."

James was silent for a moment, and Isolde almost thought that she'd reached him.

"That is all very well, Izzy, but you have tarried too long. You no longer possess the same options you once did. Pray, allow me to speak harshly, but it is for your own benefit."

"Fortunate me," she murmured. James carried on as if she hadn't spoken.

"The simple fact is that you don't have much choice beyond men like Lord Raisin. Not now. Men who would have fallen at your feet a couple of years ago will now no longer notice you. You're a bluestocking spinster with a reputation as an ice queen, and no respectable gentleman is going to risk their pride and reputation in courting you. Not whilst there are demure debutantes to pursue. You have assumed a tone of haughtiness for far too long, Izzy. And as for this entanglement with the gossip columns and Viscount Henley..."

"There is nothing afoot between that gentleman and myself!"

"I know, I know," James placated, patting her hand. "But lots of people read those columns and believe what they find there. It's not your fault."

Isolde turned away, aiming her stinging eyes at the darkness. "You make it sound like it's my fault."

"You need to think about the future," James continued doggedly. "Lord Raisin has pursued you for a couple of Seasons now. He must truly have a deep affection for you, do you not agree? "

While Isolde was thinking up a reply, they stepped through the gates and into Vauxhall proper.

She hadn't been lying when she told Lord Raisin she'd been here before – several times, at least – but every time, the Gardens took her breath away.

They were beautiful in the daylight, full of rolling meadows, delightful little walks, and flower beds, but at nightfall, the place transformed entirely.

Food stalls crowded the pathways, as did the entertainment. There were Punch and Judy shows, tightrope and slack-rope walkers balanced high above the heads of the crowd, singers, dancers, musicians, fortune-tellers, and more, all smiling and trying to catch the eyes of passers-by.

There was a low wooden platform set off to the side, where musicians played for people to dance. A woman swept through the crowds with a small brown monkey perched on her shoulder, and a man sat on a low wall with a colourful parrot balanced on his knee, which squawked and chattered at passers-by.

The main pathways were well-lit and busy, but there were narrower, darker pathways, leading off into the woodland or through high shrubs. It was generally best to avoid those pathways, as one never knew what one might find. Less refined couples hurried off to the darker pathways, giggling at each other, arm in arm. Isolde bit back a smile and turned away.

There were one or two familiar faces in the crowd, acquaintances mostly, but Isolde paid them no mind. Vauxhall was a busy place, and popular enough that one could expect to meet a few friends.

And then Isolde saw them, and stopped dead, jerking on James' arm.

He blinked down at her. "What is it, Izzy?"

"I…" she swallowed hard.

There, just across the courtyard, stood none other than the viscount himself. He seemed to look even taller and broader in the crowd, his hat hanging from his hand, his waistcoat a vibrant pink-and-blue creation.

As if her gaze was magnetism, he glanced to his side. He saw her at once.

His stepmother, Lady Wrenwood, stood beside him, along with Amelia and another little boy. Lady Wrenwood followed her stepson's gaze and nodded at Isolde.

She nodded back.

In a flash, Lord Raisin was at her side, indicating that he, too, had spotted the family.

"Shall we go over here?" he said desperately, gesturing in a direction opposite to where the viscount stood.

For her part, Isolde could not tear her eyes away from the man. It was as if her feet had been glued suddenly to the floor, and that was ridiculous. Her heart hammered as if it were trying to beat out of her chest.

What troubles me so? What might be the cause of my disquiet?

And then, quite suddenly, Lady Wrenwood was walking across the courtyard, towards them.

"Lady Isolde, what a pleasure," she said, smiling. "And this must be your family?"

The correct thing to do, of course, was to make the introductions and exchange pleasantries, but Isolde did none of this. Instead, she blurted out, "Lady Wrenwood, your eye!"

The smile dropped from the woman's face like a stone. She recovered it immediately, however, and her hand half-fluttered up to purplish bruise beside her eye, insufficiently covered with powder. She snatched her hand down again.

"This? Oh, I knocked my head on something. I forget how I managed it. People have been commenting on it all night, as I'm sure you can imagine!"

Isolde swallowed hard. "It looks sore. It must have hurt a great deal."

The smile wavered again, but Lady Wrenwood's composure was mostly restored by this point, and she managed to recover more quickly.

"Oh, certainly. That will teach me not to be so clumsy. Now, I came across to ask if you would like to join us for supper? We've booked one of the pavilion tables, and Amelia would so love it if you could join us, Lady Isolde."

Isolde opened her mouth to answer – she was fairly sure that she was going to accept – but Lord Raisin interrupted before she could speak a word.

"No, thank you, Lady Wrenwood," he said, voice clipped. By this point, James had released Isolde's arm, and Lord Raisin took the opportunity to snatch up her arm. "We have our own plans for this evening. Good day to you."

With that, he turned his back and strode away, dragging Isolde with him. She didn't even have chance to say goodbye. The other three followed, looking a trifle confused.

Twisting around, she saw Lady Wrenwood standing by herself in the courtyard, and her expression was… well, it was sad.

Behind her, the viscount stood, face impassive. Isolde swallowed hard.

Lord Raisin kept up a fearsome pace, and had her arm in a vice-grip, so she couldn't pull away.

"What possessed you to act in such a manner?' she snapped. 'Why did you speak on my behalf? And pray, what prompted such rudeness?"

Lord Raisin did not break stride. "You do not want to spend any time with the viscount, Lady Isolde, or his stepmother. I hear that she's quite a harpy."

"I liked her."

He paid no attention to this. "Believe me, my dear, if you knew what I know about the viscount, you would cut him in broad daylight."

She fluttered. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Lord Raisin gave a self-important sniff. "Needless to say, the viscount is a worthless rake, and his family can be no better. Let us leave it at that, Lady Isolde."

"No, let us not! Tell me directly what you mean."

He didn't glance down at her. "I am a man of the world, Lady Isolde. A gentleman, I should say. I attend clubs, I have good friends, and I hear things. And the things I have heard about the viscount are not good at all. You'll do better to avoid him altogether."

Isolde clenched her back teeth. She made a weak attempt to pull her arm free, but Lord Raisin either did not notice or did not see fit to release her and continued to pull her along.

"You have no right to make such decisions for me, no right at all to tell me what friends I may keep."

He gave a chuckle. "Not yet, at least. Now, shall we have a dance? You need to work off some of that vibrant energy, my dear!"