‘Oh?’ Isabelle asked uncomfortably. She meant to be friendly, but Lady Trim’s expression suggested she’d not yet earned the right to speak.
The marchioness continued, directing her comments at Venetia. ‘Just look at him. Ridiculous man. Won’t let anyone else touch those hideous pots. Spends all day dusting them like some distracted parlourmaid.’
‘Gentlemen will have their follies,’ Eleanor said diplomatically.
Lady Trim snorted. ‘Yes, and if he spent his money on women and horses like a decent chap, then I shouldn’t care. But I cannot endure his taste for broken pots. He spent a fortune just last week buying that one by the window—and Letty’s to have her coming out next year! All her friends’ fathers are supplying them with new gowns and jewels, but my husband…’ she sniffed disdainfully ‘…my husband will squander everything on clay pots without pausing to think of his family.’
Lord Trim had by this point realised he was the center of attention. He crossed the room to join them, his eyes sparkling with the prospect of further combat.
‘Lady Trim has been telling us about your latest purchase,’ Venetia remarked, obviously keen to witness the exchange of fire.
‘Do not encourage him, Venetia.’
‘No, no, do,’ Lord Trim said. ‘But to which purchase do you refer?’
‘For shame, Lord Trim. There’s more than one?’
Isabelle decided to try again, hoping the grinning marquess was less offended by the sound of her voice. ‘The amphora by the window. It is lovely.’
Lady Trim scowled at her darkly, and Isabelle despaired once more of ever making friends. But Lord Trim glowed as if she’d just complimented his favourite child. ‘You’ve an excellent eye, Miss Thomas. Bought it from a chap in Regent Street.’
‘Oh? From Mr Taylor?’
He was impressed. ‘Clever girl. Would you like to see my other purchase?’
‘No,’ Lady Trim interjected, ‘we would not.’
‘I’m speaking to Miss Thomas.’
‘I, well…’ Isabelle glanced from husband to wife, feeling as if she was walking a diplomatic tightrope. ‘I should be delighted.’
The four women followed him reluctantly across the room. He talked the whole time. ‘Bought her in Rome last year, but she only just arrived. From a Signor Ricci.’
Isabelle followed his loving gaze towards a life-sized head of Medusa, her mind too numb to answer. Hesitantly, she asked a question of her own. ‘It is…old?’
‘Yes, yes, of course. Cost a packet, but worth it, don’t you think, for something this fine? I plan to buy another one next summer.’
Still not thinking properly…but could it be? She stared at the bust, her mind working over the facts. Signor Ricci hadn’t known her father fobbed off his brilliant forgeries as the real thing until Cowes had told him. But now it appeared he’d taken a leaf from her father’s book.
‘She rather reminds me of m’wife.’
Isabelle’s mind cleared slowly. ‘Yes? I mean, no, she looks nothing like Lady Trim. I was just thinking of…oh, you mustn’t buy any more.’
‘Why on earth not?’
Lady Trim’s hard expression softened slightly. ‘Do not argue with my visitor, husband. I think it’s perfectly sensible advice.’
Hope flickered uncertainly in Isabelle’s chest. She needed to make friends—not with ageing gentlemen, but with ladies. She didn’t want to repeat Will’s stepmother’s experience—for her husband’s sake, for the sake of their children, and for herself.
‘It is a fake,’ she said with bald conviction. How wonderful it felt to be honest.
Lady Trim looked ready to crow. ‘Doesn’t surprise me in the least. Horatio, you are a fool.’
He reddened. ‘Did my wife tell you to make that claim?’
‘No, sir, your wife is far too kind. I know because my father was Sir Walter Thomas—’
‘Not the famous antiquary?’
‘The very one. And he knew perfectly well that Ricci dealt in fraudulent goods. I recommend that you not only halt all future purchases, but that you return this one and insist the man refund your money. He must be stopped.’
She held her breath, thinking she’d gone too far. But after several seconds, he spoke.
‘I’m appalled by this knowledge.’
‘I am sorry to bear bad news.’
He sighed. ‘No, you needn’t be. I feel a bit of a dupe, but at least you’ve saved me a great deal of money. What shall I spend it on, then?’
She couldn’t have hoped for a more advantageous question. ‘Well, Lord Trim, I hear you have a beautiful daughter…and her début next year won’t be free of charge…’
And that had been that. When Isabelle had left the house twenty minutes later, Lady Trim had pressed her hand with gratitude. She’d been approved.
Will warily opened one of her invitations. ‘Oh, bother. I was rather hoping to abstain from balls for the near future.’
‘That’s not because I persist in stepping on your toes, is it?’
‘No, darling…you haven’t stepped on my toes in at least two days. But surely avoiding balls is one of my rewards as a married man?’
She had to smile at his obvious aversion. ‘One of many rewards, surely.’
‘Of course.’ He kissed her neck. A pleasant shiver ran up her back. ‘Do let’s refuse them all.’
‘Well…since we’re leaving for Norfolk so soon, I suppose we must.’
‘That’s a wonderful thought. I hope you like it there.’ He perused his own letter. ‘But, oh, Mortimer writes that the roof is leaking. Into our bedroom. On to the bed itself, in fact.’
‘You did warn me.’
He read further. ‘And Tobias, my cat—the other one, I mean—’
‘The Second.’
‘The Second, yes. A bird flew into the drawing room and he clawed his way to the top of the Aubusson tapestry trying to catch it—whole thing crashed to the floor, taking m’grandfather’s collection of teapots with it. Rather valuable, some of them.’
‘Well…there shall be less to dust.’
‘Yes—you’d think my housekeeper’d appreciate that. But, no, she wants to get rid of him. To make things worse, he’s taken a wife—’
‘The cat?’
‘Yes, and Mrs Tobias the Second had kittens in the nursery.’
‘Mary will enjoy looking after them.’
‘A good point. Don’t tell her—let it be a surprise.’
Isabelle smiled again. She smiled a lot these days. Difficult not to, when she was so happy. Mary was happy, too. She’d been able to see Celia Bligh after all. The girl had come to London for her sister’s wedding, and they’d spent several days wandering around the house, lazing about the garden and speaking in confidential whispers. Mary had even consented to a visit from the dressmaker, and now boasted an impressive pile of clothes to take with her to Norfolk. So, too, did Isabelle.
‘What are you thinking about?’ he asked.
‘Just how fortunate I am. Every bit of bad luck I’ve had in the past few months has been good luck in disguise.’
‘Like what?’
‘Well, if that boy hadn’t tried to rob me when I was walking to the pawnbroker’s, then you would never have rescued me. I probably would never have met you.’
‘I’d have found another excuse to talk to you. I’d seen you from my carriage.’
‘If Mary hadn’t put a newt in her French tutor’s teacup, then you would never have been driving there in the first place.’
‘True. I’ll thank her.’
‘And if she hadn’t cut off Amelia Fitzgerald’s hair, then you wouldn’t have needed a governess. You’d have had no reason to keep me after I returned your watch.’
‘I’d have thought of something.’
His lips returned to her neck, starting just below her ear and working their way down to the pulse at the base of her throat. She closed her eyes with a sigh. She was happy, and intended to be so for a very lon
g time. For ever after, in fact, just as the fairy tale went.
ISBN: 978-1-4268-4649-6
THE EARL AND THE GOVERNESS
Copyright © 2009 by Sarah Lindsey
North American Publication 2010
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