Page 38 of Married to the Icy Duke
Sybella eyed her curiously, her expression giving away nothing.
“Of course,” she said at last, offering a small smile. “We’dalllike to avoid complications, I think. And yet sometimes they find us, don’t they?”
What wasthatsupposed to mean? Before Charlotte could ask, Thalia, Mary, and Tommy reached them, and the five of them all walked into Gunter’s together.
Isaac was waiting, standing by a round table set for six people.
“There you all are,” he said, a trifle moodily. “The proprietor will be back in a moment to take our orders. Mary, if youare confused as to what flavor you would like to try, I can recommend either the chocolate or the brown bread ices.”
“What flavor wouldyoulike, little one?” Thalia asked with a laugh, setting him down on his feet. He held her hand, beaming up at her.
“Green!” he chirped. This was his second word in half an hour, and it did not matter that it was the same one. Everybody smiled, glancing happily around at each other.
“Green … would he like pistachio, I wonder?” Sybella suggested.
Charlotte glanced up at Isaac and saw that he was staring down at his nephew with an expression of such powerful fondness that it made her heart ache. He wasn’t the sort of man whobeamed, but there was such a deep feeling in his face that she suddenly found that she wanted to wrap her arms around his shoulders.
“I will buy him all the flavors he wants,” Isaac announced.
Mary sucked in a breath. “Oh, no, Your Grace! It’ll make him sick! It’ll certainly spoil his dinner.”
Charlotte placed her hand over her mouth to smother a giggle at Isaac’s chagrined expression.
Before another word could be exchanged, however, a shadow fell over the table. They all glanced up, and Charlotte was surprisedto see an unfamiliar figure standing beside them, a thoughtful expression on his face.
There was a beat of taut silence before Isaac responded.
“Why, Matthew, what a surprise to see you here. I did not know you were in London.”
They were all sitting now, except for Isaac and Tommy, who stood beside his nurse and stared curiously up at the newcomer.
Clearing his throat, Isaac glanced around the table and offered a faint smile. There was something tight about his manner, something wary, and the atmosphere had grown hard and uncomfortable.
“Everyone, this is Lord Bentley. He is a family friend, although we have not seen each other since …” he paused, and Lord Bentley filled in the silence.
“Since the funeral, I think?” he offered helpfully. “I believe congratulations are in order, by the way, on your impending marriage.”
Isaac seemed to tense further. He rounded the table, coming to stand behind Charlotte. To her amazement, he placed one warm palm on her shoulder. The gesture felt protective, although she could not for the life of her work out why.
“Yes,” he responded tightly. “This is Lady Charlotte Harding, my bride-to-be. Her sister-in-law, the Duchess of Stonewell, joins us today. You know my sister, Sybella, of course.”
Lord Bentley nodded, that faint smile still playing about his lips. His gaze landed on Charlotte and stayed there.
She guessed that he was about twenty-seven years old, tall and slim with a wiry frame. He was rather handsome, in the style one might see in the face of a Grecian statue. He had a headful of thick blond curls and large, soft brown eyes. Why had such a harmless, charming-looking man put Isaac so on edge?
“Charmed, I’m sure,” Lord Bentley said, smiling politely and making a bow. His curls fell over his forehead, and he flicked them neatly back. “I see that your little nephew is here, too.”
“Yes,” Isaac responded, and his fingers briefly, reflexively tightened on Charlotte’s shoulder. “Thomas.”
She glanced over at Thalia and then at Sybella, trying to glean some clue as to why this interaction should be so uncomfortable. Thalia looked as ill at ease as Charlotte felt, and Sybella’s face was inscrutable as always.
Lord Bentley turned to Tommy, dropping into a crouch to put himself on eye level with the boy.
“What a fine little fellow you are,” he said, smiling. “What a lucky little fellow you are, too, to have your uncle and aunt to care for you. And soon you will have another aunt, too! What luck!”
Tommy smiled uncertainly, pressing against Mary’s skirts. He said nothing, of course, but Lord Bentley seemed undeterred.
“Of course, you are too young to understand your luck yet,” he continued blithely, “But youarelucky. You see, while you have a loving family ready to care for you, some of us are obliged to buryourloved ones, well before their time. It’s an awful thing to do, you know, Master Thomas. Burying somebody you love, somebody who should not have died.”
