1818_Isabel

by Suzanne Enoch

  He chuckled again, and she belatedly joined in. While he claimed she was charming, he was the prince of charming. Could someone be too agreeable? Or was she merely viewing him in comparison to the much less charming and affable Adam Driscoll? “You know all about my ancestry, Geoffrey, but I know very little about you. Tell me three things about yourself you wish me to know.”

  “My favorite topic,” he quipped, sitting back a little as their waiter appeared at the side of the table once more.

  “Would you care to see a menu, my lord?”

  “Not necessary. I will have the pheasant, and Miss de Rossi will have the lamb with mint jelly.”

  “Very good, my lord.”

  Geoffrey refilled their glasses himself as the waiter retreated. Isabel hid her frown behind another sip of horrible wine. She would have preferred ordering her own luncheon, and she definitely wouldn’t have chosen the lamb, but this only demonstrated how little she knew about proper proceedings. For instance, she’d had no idea that gentlemen selected the meals for the ladies with whom they dined.

  “Three things,” he mused. “About me, that I wish you to know.”

  “That I don’t already know,” she added, hopefully to forestall him from using one or two of his choices to claim how much he liked and admired her.

  “Clever minx,” he countered in a smooth drawl.

  “Thank you,” she returned, though she didn’t consider what she’d said particularly clever or at all naughty, which was the only reason she could conjure for him calling her a minx. Perhaps, though, she was being naïve again, and all the young ladies in London this year were “chits” and “minxes”. She’d heard that first one while out walking with Grandmama Olivia, and no one had seemed put out to hear it.

  He flashed that attractive smile again. “Very well. For the first, I adore fishing, and am rather excellent at it if I say so myself. I’m afraid that in my company you shall have to tolerate dining on trout or bass weekly.”

  “My grandpapa Pietro in Florence has a similar passion,” she returned. “We dined on fish often.” As for the bit about her being in his company enough to dine on fish weekly, she would put that to his confidence about their joined future. He did make it all rather easy to imagine. Pretty and perfect.

  “I’m glad to hear it. I don’t think I could marry a woman who couldn’t abide il pesce,” he said, using the Italian word for fish.

  “Ah, well done. But I will not be distracted.” Not even by the word marriage. “What is your second thing?”

  “Hmm.” For a moment he furrowed his brow, but she suspected his hesitation was for show. He’d just breezed through a conversation that imagined them already married, after all.

  Well, staring was rude, so she turned her gaze out the window while he considered which secret he wished to divulge next. Her curricle and pair of matched grays waited just up the road and in plain view, while a steady stream of passersby strolled by. A man dressed as a farmer sent the chickens fleeing as he and a dog drove a half dozen sheep by, a little boy of four or five following and towing a lamb on a rope behind him.

  Most of them were her people, and eventually she hoped to learn all of their names, their dreams, their skills, and their needs. She looked forward to it, to being here at Nimway and having Adam introduce her about. He’d agreed to give her four months of his expertise. She would make certain that was enough. Because asking him to stay longer would be a very bad idea – for both of them.

  “I am an only child,” the viscount said, drawing her attention back into the inn. “As are you, yes?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “My father passed seven years ago. My mother resides year-round at my house in London, which is the reason I spend a great deal of my time at Blackbridge and Alton. She’s a supremely opinionated woman, I’m afraid, but I’ve learned to smile and nod and then do as I please. I reckon she’ll like you, though, if for no other reason than you domesticating me.”

  Three footmen arrived with their meal, and while lamb wasn’t her favorite she had to acknowledge that it had been prepared quite well. Geoffrey likewise pronounced his pheasant pleasant, a rather obvious attempt at humor, but at least he was making the effort.

  Isabel was glad for the lull in conversation. Something about the luncheon felt odd, and she wanted to blame that on Adam. If he hadn’t kissed her, if he hadn’t tricked her into agreeing to luncheon tomorrow, if he would just leave her thoughts for a blasted minute or two, annoying man, her attention wouldn’t be so dreadfully divided. She would simply be listening to and happily chatting with Lord Alton while her life went forward as it should toward a fairy-tale marriage to a very handsome, very charming man who didn’t argue with her every time she said the word “magic”.

  “I confess to some trepidation over telling you the third thing about me,” he said, refilling her glass yet again, “because I fear you’ll think I’m trying to impress you.”

  He paused, and she realized she was supposed to say something complimentary in return. Again she wished her education had included a few more lessons in proper conversation with members of the opposite sex. “I trust you to be truthful, Geoffrey, and I’m already quite impressed.”

  “Well, then. I…have always been fascinated with the legends of Merlin and Arthur, and the search for true magic in the world.”

  That made her blink. Did he think her a fool, after all? “You’ve researched magic, then?”

  “I’ve mostly studied tricks – sleight of hand, charming serpents, disappearing objects – but they have left me convinced that there must be something real to balance so much fakery.” His light-blue gaze caught and held hers. “Since I’ve met you, Isabel, I’m more convinced of that than ever. And I’d be willing to wager that you’ve seen true magic.”

  She fiddled with her fork for a moment. This wasn’t the first time he’d said he believed in magic; technically his confession didn’t fulfill the criteria of three things she didn’t know about him. But to hear that he’d actually studied the history of magic – that was new. And it actually made her a little…uneasy. It should have left her ecstatic, she supposed, but mainly she heard Adam pointing out that children believed in magic. Adults did not.

  This felt different than the magic in which she believed, however. He seemed to be speaking not of the glowing orb sort of magic, but of the objects floating about the room sort. Unless he was merely trying to flatter her, and thought he’d deciphered her beliefs.

  “Have you?” he prompted.

  Isabel blinked. “Have I what?”

  “Seen true magic. I can think of no one more likely to have done so.”

  “Well, we did manage to locate an old orb that’s been in the family for generations. A polished moonstone gripped by golden eagle or dragon claws. It’s quite lovely, and the legends say it does…something magical on occasion.” Yes, she’d seen it glow, but no one else had. And she preferred not to have to prove its abilities when half the time it did nothing at all.

  Just why she felt the need to word all that so carefully she had no idea, especially since Geoffrey only greeted her statement with an encouraging smile. It simply made her feel…safer to do so.

  “Truly?” he asked, lowering his voice a little. “What have you seen it do? I would love the opportunity to take a look at it, with your permission, of course.”

  Adam had seen it. For heaven’s sake, it had ended up in his bedchamber twice, though she suspected that was because someone was matchmaking. And it hadn’t done anything in his presence. “I believe I have seen it glow,” she returned.

  “Then I must see it. Say you’ll have me over for dinner, and you can show it off. I promise to be full of admiration.”

  With a laugh at his eagerness, Isabel brushed aside the nonsense and skepticism Adam had been throwing in her direction. Adults could believe, because magic was real. Him choosing not to do so simply made him obtuse. “That’s a fair distance for you to travel just for dinner.”

&nbs
p; “I don’t mind. And there’s always business I can attend to in Balesborough. I frequently take a room at the inn here.”

  The proper thing to do would likely be to invite him to spend the weekend or some such, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to do that. Not yet. Not when he was already so certain that a match between them was a foregone conclusion. “If you’re certain, then please come to dinner on Saturday. We’ll eat early.”

  Geoffrey inclined his head. “I will admit there are times I wish you had a brother or an uncle or your father commanding your household so I could spend more time there with you. Staying for a week or so would no doubt leave you as convinced as I already am that we are perfectly suited for one another. You know what propriety demands, though, and I reluctantly commend you for protecting your reputation.”

  Goodness. Propriety hadn’t even occurred to her. Another lesson on which they hadn’t spent enough time. That didn’t mean she couldn’t use it to her advantage now that he’d pointed it out, though. “Thank you for understanding, Geoffrey.”

  “Of course. I’m exceedingly understanding.”

  After that they chatted about horses and King Arthur’s reputed burial site at the old cathedral in Glastonbury and, after she mentioned the sudden appearance of Mist, how his old nursemaid had once sworn she saw a witch turn into a cat. Lord Alton could be quite amusing, and she caught herself laughing several times.

  When they finally rose from the table the glimpse she had of his pocket watch showed the time to be nearly three o’clock. Billy waited in the shade beside the curricle, rising to climb onto the seat as she and Geoffrey approached.

  “I shall count the hours until Saturday, you know,” the viscount said, stopping to face her as he took both of her hands in both of his. “It shall be a sweet torture.” Lowering his head, he lifted her hands and kissed each of her knuckles before he straightened again.

  “Thank you again for luncheon,” she returned. “It, and the company, were delightful.”

  He handed her up beside Billy. “I shall see you in three days, dear Isabel.” With that he sketched a bow, doffing his hat as he did so, then turned to collect his bay stallion.

  “I’m sorry to be so long, Billy,” she said, as the groom clucked at the team and sent them off at a trot. “I had no idea of the time.”

  “Not to worry, Miss Isabel,” he returned with an easy grin. “I had myself a fine nap, and the stalls will have been mucked out hours ago. You’ll hear no complaining from Billy Barnes.”

  She had no complaints, either. Just a few nagging worries over whether a man could be too perfect. And over what the other, much less perfect man in her life would say when he learned she’d invited Lord Alton for dinner on Saturday. And over whether the orb would finally stop being so stubborn and let her know that it agreed with her about Geoffrey.

  Because she had the sneaking suspicion that the orb – or someone who knew both where it had been and where she was hiding it now – had a different fellow in mind. And she was certain she didn’t agree with that at all. Fairly certain, anyway.

  12

  Well, at least Adam hadn’t decided to take her to the Two-Headed Dragon for luncheon. As he drove the curricle deeper into the Balesboro Wood, Isabel wasn’t certain, in fact, if he had any idea at all where they were going.

  “We already inspected the logging hut,” she offered, ducking beneath a branch as they continued along a rapidly fading path.

  “I recall. The hut’s farther west of here.”

  She sent him a sideways glance, but all his attention appeared to be on the overgrown track and the pair of grays. “I think this might be a deer trail.”

  “That is very likely.”

  They continued on as the track meandered downhill, until it stopped before an old tree that had fallen squarely across the path. It was covered in moss, with mushrooms peeking out of the undergrowth of ferns that had sprouted along its length. “We seem to have reached the end of the trail,” she observed. “Do we go back?”

  Adam tied off the leads and hopped to the ground. “We walk,” he said, coming around to her side of the curricle.

  “I’m not wearing appropriate shoes for clambering through the forest, you know.” Nevertheless, she stood. Whatever he was up to, it was unexpected. And she found that very intriguing.

  Before she could climb down from the carriage, Adam put his hands around her waist and lifted her to the forest floor. The ground beneath her feet was uneven, and she grabbed onto his arms to keep her balance. Given the ease with which he’d lifted her, she wouldn’t have been surprised to see him lift the curricle, horses and all, over the fallen log. Instead, he kept his splayed hands on her waist until she lifted her head to look up at him.

  “It’s not far,” he said, and took her left hand in his right. “This way.”

  “What isn’t far?” she asked, hiking up her skirt with her free hand and following him around the tree and down a slight incline. “Certain death?”

  He chuckled. “That’s in the other direction.”

  “Oh, good.” Holding hands might not be proper, but his warm, firm grip kept her from falling on her face at least twice. And it made her feel…safe, despite the setting.

  She’d already noted that he hadn’t loaded a picnic basket or even a blanket onto the curricle, and he certainly wasn’t carrying one with him now. Hopefully he had an apple or two in his pockets, or they would stumble across some wild whortleberries, because she was quite hungry. Perhaps she’d been more nervous about today’s luncheon than she’d admitted to herself, because she’d barely managed a piece of toast for breakfast, and that had been hours ago.

  They’d walked less than a minute beyond the fallen tree when he stopped. “We’re here.”

  Isabel looked around. Trees, shrubberies, ferns, and a thick tangle of brambles directly before them. Beyond the breeze rustling through the leaves and the scattering of birdsongs, she could make out the sound of flowing water somewhere close by, but no stream lay in sight. “Are you certain of that?”

  By way of answer he pulled the brambles aside and motioned her forward. “You’ll have to duck a little.”

  Well, she’d come this far. Isabel ducked beneath the archway he’d made and stepped forward, keeping her gaze on the ground so she wouldn’t trip. Seeing grass beneath her feet, she looked up. And gasped.

  Old, old trees and brambles formed a half wall around a small glade, the other half bounded by a steep, rocky hillside. In the center, white roses climbed the trunk of an absolutely ancient-looking oak tree. To one side of the tree, a small waterfall cascaded into a pond, while beyond it a trio of large white boulders crouched in the grass. On this side of the pond a blue blanket had been laid out, together with a generous-sized basket.

  “This… How did you find this place?” she asked, facing Adam as he ducked beneath the brambles to join her.

  “Last month I was tracing the stream back and nearly fell into the pond. The boulders have faces carved into them. From sometime before the Romans were here, I would guess.”

  She traipsed through the grass and meadow flowers to the nearest of the white stones. It took some squinting, but after a moment she made out two large eyes, a very generous nose, and a straight mouth above a beard that carried on down into the earth. Her breath stopped. Could this be some sculptor’s depiction of Merlin himself? She ran her fingers along the worn edges.

  “Not as fine as your father’s work,” Adam noted, crouching beside her, “but striking all the same.”

  “It’s extraordinary,” she breathed. “Thank you for showing me.”

  “It’s yours. I’m not an expert in naming things by any means, as you know, but I thought you might consider calling this place Isabel’s Bower.”

  Oh, she liked that. Smiling, she straightened to go look at the other two white boulders. A supremely buxom woman graced one of them, while some sort of maned leopard or spotted lion with eagle’s feet decorated the third. The claws very muc
h reminded her of the orb’s golden claws holding the moonstone in place. “I want to do rubbings of these,” she said, tracing the lion-leopard’s tail with her fingertips.

  “Perhaps in fabric,” he suggested. “You could have them framed.”

  “You’re being unexpectedly imaginative,” she said, straightening again.

  “Not believing in dancing fairies doesn’t make me unimaginative,” he returned, walking back to the blanket. “In fact, you have no idea some of the things I’m imagining at this very moment. They do involve you, by the way.”

  Heat trailed beneath her skin. “I stand corrected,” she said, unable to help wondering precisely what he was imagining. Given his direct gaze and the way he’d spoken, no doubt it was something terribly improper.

  “Good.” He seated himself, folding his long legs and untying the lid of the basket. “Now. I wasn’t sure what you’d like, but I spoke with Mrs. Dall and she assured me that either shepherd’s pie or cucumber- and mutton-sandwiches or something with tomatoes and bread that she couldn’t quite describe to me but that you ate in Florence would suffice. We had no tomatoes, but she managed the other two.”

  With a flourish he removed a cloth-covered plate of sandwiches and a deep dish of shepherd’s pie from the basket. Then he set out plates, utensils, and glasses, together with a bowl of sugared strawberries and a bottle of Madeira.

  “You didn’t have to bring both,” she said, sitting on the far side of the blanket and settling her white-and-brown skirts around her.

  “Yes, I did. Neither Mrs. Dall nor I knew which meal you preferred. I’m attempting to woo you, in case you’ve forgotten.”

  The flutter of her heart, the tingling at the tips of her fingers, resumed again. He barely qualified as a gentleman, she supposed, but he certainly provided her with an additional perspective regarding luncheon etiquette, anyway. She was permitted to choose her own meal, apparently. “I haven’t forgotten.”