Page 127 of The Good Duke
“Lady Isabelle, may I again present my…my…” Simon stumbled. “Father’s goddaughter,” he smoothed over, and the tension eased from her…some. “Miss F—”
“Yes! I now recall Miss Forsyth,” Lady Isabelle exclaimed.
I now recall…
Not: we’ve been introduced.
Persephone’s stomach turned.
Oh, God. I’m a dolt. I should have taken another name.
“It is so very good to see you again, Miss Forsyth,” Lady Isabelle said with both warmth and sincerity.
Persephone’s feet twitched with the need to flee.
“Likewise, my lady,” Persephone managed to choke out.
The young woman let out a sound of protest. “Please, none of that, Miss Forsyth,” she chided. “We are practically fam—”
Persephone tensed.
“Isabelle,” Silas said sharply, cutting into the rest of his sister’s pronouncement.
Stricken by that admonishment, Lady Isabelle’s eyes grew sad. “I d-didn’t mean about H-His Grace,” she stammered. “But rather because we—”
“Isabelle,” the marquess barked, and an awkward silence fell over the group.
Simon looked confusedly among Persephone, Silas, and Lady Isabelle. The furrowed place between his eyes and creased brow indicated he’d sensed something amiss among the trio.
Then Simon settled a frosty stare upon Lord Bute.
An honorable, good man such as Simon would never take to having any man speak to a lady the way the marquess had just done his sister.
Persephone, however, understood why Silas had urged the young woman to silence.
The marquess intended to keep private Persephone’s connection to his family, which meant he didn’t intend to ruin her. That should bring more than the minor solace it did.
“Perhaps you’d care for a walk, Lady Isabelle,” Simon extended his elbow, “and to find some place on the shore where there are pelicans and birds still in need of an afternoon meal.”
How was it possible to both love Simon for that goodness and want to weep at his championing another woman?
Beaming, Lady Isabelle held aloft the little satchel containing her scraps for the birds. “I would so dearly love that,” she cried with all the exuberance and innocence of the child she still nearly was.
Lady Isabelle placed her delicate fingers upon Simon’s sleeve, and Persephone’s eyes remained locked on the sight of the exquisitely golden couple joined so.
“Miss Forsyth?”
Simon’s query cut through the agony. “Hmm?”
“Join us.”
His was a ducal command that expected Persephone’s acquiescence. He directed it not at Persephone, however, but rather the grim man beside her.
Why, given the marquess’s outburst, Simon feared leaving her alone with the other man.
“Yes, please join us, Miss Forsyth!” Lady Isabelle urged. “We have so very much to talk about.”
No, they didn’t, and no, they wouldn’t.
