Page 72 of The Notorious Dashing Viscount
“I… I think I was a little in love with him, Mama.”
Isolde wasn’t aware of deciding to say those words. She heard her father give a low groan, hastily smothered. Beatrice’s hand tightened on her arm.
“Oh, that I were a man,” she whispered. “I would eat his heart in the marketplace.”
Isolde blinked. “That’s Shakespeare, isn’t it?”
“Yes, and I am not sure I fully understood the meaning of the words until just now. Come, my dear, let us return to your abode and begin to unravel this entire unfortunate affair. I wish to assure you most earnestly that none of this rests upon your shoulders.”
“The gossip columns will think differently.”
“Then I will burn every copy I can get my hands on. Ah, here is the boat.”
They crossed the pier, and Isolde found herself sitting in the same seat as before, in the prow of the boat, facing out onto the moonlit water. The boat bobbed up and down, and there was a distinct chill coming off the water now. Some people were starting to leave Vauxhall, laughing and joking among themselves as they went. Isolde watched them go, wondering how they were able to feel things so deeply.
One girl was crying, apron pressed to her eyes, a friend on either side consoling her. A middle-aged woman walked hand in hand with a middle-aged man, the two of them staring adoringly at each other.
A group of girls, none older than seventeen or eighteen, walked together, shrieking with laughter and telling stories.
Will I ever feel that way again?
He lied to me.
In the distance, Lord Raisin came puffing along the path, hurrying towards the boat. Richard and Beatrice had an argument about whether to wait the two or three minutes it would take for him to arrive. Richard won, it seemed, and the boat stayed where it was.
Somebody touched Isolde’s elbow, and she flinched. She didn’t turn around.
“I’m so sorry, Izzy,” James whispered. “I’m sorry. I know that… I know you liked him.”
She said nothing, and James did not seem to expect a response. The boat bobbed violently up and down as Lord Raisin climbed in, out of breath, and they set off at last.
One tear, hot against her chilled skin, crawled down Isolde’s cheek, and dripped off her the tip of her chin.
She let it fall.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Three Days Later
Drawing in a deep breath, Isolde dug her spoon into the pea soup and drew up a hefty mouthful.
She was determined not to be the sort of woman who wasted away after heartbreak. Her appetite had deserted her, but she knew that she ought to be eating, and bowl of pea soup wasn’t going to kill her.
The dinner table was quiet. It generally was, lately.
After all the nonsense about James wanting to challenge the man to a duel had died down, a sort of awkwardness had settled down over the family. Every time Isolde glanced up, she found one or other of her parents eyeing her anxiously. James followed her around in a way he hadn’t since they were children, trying to get her to reminisce over old times or play some silly joke.
She wasn’t in the mood. When nobody was around, Isolde had taken to getting out her mother’s portrait and looking at her. Her real mother, that is.
“I understand you a little better now, I think,” she’d said once. Thankfully, nobody had heard.
“James, aren’t you going to your club today?” Richard said suddenly, after a meaningful look from his wife.
James paused, a spoonful of soup halfway to his mouth. “I thought Isolde and me might play chess, like we used to.”
“I don’t want to play chess,” Isolde said, as everybody was looking at her. “Go to your club.”
James pressed his lips together. “I think I should stay.”
