Page 177 of The Good Duke
Simon felt the faintest stirring of a breeze, and then a whisper of rose water, as Lady Isabelle inched closer.
“Miss Forsyth,” she murmured. “Miss Forsyth has not changed. She is still as vibrant and confident and fun-loving. And do you know, Your Grace,” Lady Isabelle mused, “I believe you and I have been sitting here this evening thinking the same thoughts…”
He kept his features even.
When he set his flute down, Lady Isabelle, a model of patience and politeness, stared expectantly at him.
“What say you, Your Grace?”
She’d make him say something. As he should. Certainly, something was required of him here.
“I…don’t knowwhatto say,” he began slowly.
“Perhaps I shall be the one to state what we both already know: one”—she lifted a finger—“you do not want to marry me, Your Grace. And two, Your Grace”—Lady Isabelle lifted a second digit—“you are in love with Miss Forsyth.”
Simon froze. The rest of the room’s occupants seemed blissfully ignorant of the seriousness of his and the lady’s exchange.
To both look at the lady and hear her, she couldn’t have sounded more apathetic.
“You believe I’m angry?” This question contained more of her earlier amusement.
Honesty was the only way for this discourse to go. Granted, he’d far prefer it take place in a more private setting where they could freely converse.
“Though I assure you my intentions toward you from the beginning were honorable,” he said quietly, “you’d be well within your rights, Lady Isabelle.”
She snorted. “I’m not one of those ladies who aspires to be a duchess. I’d befarangrier were I to marry a gentleman who is hopelessly in love with another woman.”
His mind raced.
They’d both assumed the only way this went with the Keefe siblings was poorly and ending in an eventual scandal. If Lady Isabelle, however, opted to break it off with Simon, then the lady, Simon, and Persephone would all be spared societal persecution.
Simon felt the first stirring of…hope. Perhaps he and Persephone’s earlier and worst fears needn’t come to fruition.
“I have no qualms setting you free, Your Grace.” Lady Isabelle spoke like she’d looked in Simon’s head and seen his very thoughts.
So as to not offend, he fought to keep his features even.
“Lady Isabelle,” he began quietly. “Your grace and—”
“I’m not finished, Greystoke.”
Detecting an edge to her admonition, Simon bowed his head. “Forgive me,” he murmured. “Please continue.”
“What I’d also intended to say is that I would never stand in the way of true love. If you and Miss Forsyth truly love one another—”
“We do.”
“I’m still speaking,” she said impatiently.
And Simon cursed the speed with which he’d spoken.
“If you both love each other, then I’d only support such a union. But, Your Grace, I’m now very aware my brother isalsodesperately in love with Miss Forsyth and that, at one point, his feelings were reciprocated. As such, I am insisting Silas be allowed to speak alone with Miss Forsyth so that he can explain himself. If after their meeting, she remains steadfast in her love for you, then you’ll be free.”
Chapter 33
Several hours later, with the gentlemen having adjourned for brandies and cigars, and the ladies taking themselves to the drawing room to share—or seek—the latest gossip, Persephone made her way back to the gardens.
The dinner party Persephone had organized and helped Simon throw could only be called a resounding success.
