Page 2 of The Notorious Dashing Viscount
Pretty, yes, but the family resemblance was never marked.
“I found a painting of her, you know,” Isolde said, gaze drifting past her brother. “In the attic. I didn’t take it down, but I know it’s there.”
James followed her gaze and frowned. “You mean, a painting of Dorothy?”
“Hush! Somebody might hear.”
He sighed. “People know that Mama had a sister, Izzy.”
“Yes, but they don’t know…” she swallowed the words. “They don’t know the rest of it.”
“And they never will,” he said, reassuringly. She wished she could believe him.
“Come, let’s go to the library. I want to talk to you about something.”
“This place hasn’t changed a bit,” James remarked, running his finger along the spines of a row of books. “You have, though. You’re prettier than ever.”
Isolde snorted. “Oh, please. I’m three and twenty. This will be my fourth Season, and people are only ever interested in the young debutantes. Believe me, that suits me fine.”
James narrowed his eyes. “You’re a Belford, remember. You’re Lady Isolde Belford, daughter of the Duke and Duchess of Belbrooke. Remember that.”
“I can hardly forget it,” she muttered, picking at her dress.
“I think you are forgetting it, though.” Crossing the room, James sank down beside her, reaching out to take her hand. “Now, what did you want to tell me?”
Isolde bit her lip hard. She felt silly baby tears pricking at her eyes and blinked furiously. Elizabeth Bennet would never cry. Pamela would, though, and look at what happened to her.
“I had an argument with Mama, about a month ago,” she admitted at last. “A bad one. It’s about the Season. She says that she and Papa have had quite enough of my dilly-dallying, and it’s high time I was settled. She said that this will be my last Season, and if I know what’s good for me, I’ll choose a nice man to marry. There will be consequences if not.”
“Consequences? What does that mean?”
“I don’t know. She may be harbouring any number of thoughts, I expect.”
“You read entirely too many novels. They shall merely send you to the countryside, where you may dwell in tranquil repose among your books.”
“I like London. I like my friends, and my books, and my circulating library – which is a revolutionary idea, by the way –and I don’t want to go. All the men in town are purely awful.”
“They can’t all be awful,” James pointed out. “I’m here now.”
“Yes, but that’s different. They’re all rakes or dead bores. There’s nothing in between.” She paused, tilting her head. “Except for the old men who want a third or fourth wife, and don’t realise how ridiculous they look pursuing the young women. Ugh, that’s who I’m going to marry, isn’t it? Some lecherous old man with about ten children who will all hate me on sight. Oh, James, what am I going to do?”
She dropped her head into her hands, and James slung an arm around her shoulder, pulling her close.
“There, there, you poor dear. I shall speak with Mama and Papa and ascertain what course of action may be taken.” In the meantime, why not take their advice seriously? We both know Mama can be brusque, but she has your best interests at heart. Ladies do get married, you know. Why not do this Season properly? You always seem a little… well, a little distracted. Not really looking for somebody to marry. What about if we change that? I’ll be there, and we can choose someone together.”
Isolde shook her head drearily. “I don’t want to get married.”
A flash of annoyance clouded James’ handsome face. “Don’t be silly. Of course you do. I’m ready to get married. Perhaps we can look for spouses together.”
She sighed. “It’s different for you. You’ll be the Duke of Belbrooke one day. You just finished the most marvellous tour. Do you have any idea how envious I was, perusing the accounts of your adventures in the letters you dispatched home? It felt like a form of torment. I have no desire to be wed, and at the conclusion of it all, I find myself… I am...” she trailed off, face colouring.
James didn’t understand. With the best will in the world, he never quite seemed to understand the way Isolde felt. It didn’tseem to matter how much she explained it.
“At the conclusion of it, what?” he pressed, tilting his head. “What are you so afraid of?”
“I’m afraid they’ll find out,” she hissed, low and quick, glancing furtively at the library door as she did so. It remained modestly closed. Of course, the servants could all be gathered around the keyhole, listening in.
James flinched. “Oh. Well, they won’t. How could they?”
