“So is drinking tea,” Adam grumbled. “It would make more sense if you didn’t have to hold the saucer and just picked up the cup of tea.”
“That would leave the teacup more vulnerable to spilling.”
“That would allow one to have more control over the teacup in the first place. It makes me wonder why the British are considered experts in engineering.”
“They’ve had centuries of being impressive,” Lady Isla said loyally.
“I think it is a crown they will be unable to retain,” Adam muttered.
“Fiddle-faddle,” Lady Isla said, but she didn’t seem upset, and Adam was pleased to have distracted her.
She’d been tense when he met her today. This meeting was important to her too.
Finally, they disembarked from the carriage, and Adam looked up. The building was tall and white, as if it sought to be confused with one of the clouds that rolled majestically ahead. Columns flanked a cheerful red door.
“See? It looks like every other building,” Isla said reassuringly. “Nothing to be intimidated by.”
“But every other building here is magnificent,” Adam said miserably.
“It’s just one of the duke’s homes,” Isla said reassuringly. “He has many.”
“If you meant that to ease my nervousness, it does not,” Adam said icily.
“A certain degree of nervousness can be beneficial,” Isla said.
“Well, I’ve got buckets of it.”
Lady Isla giggled, and even though Adam was certain nothing could distract him from his nervousness of having tea with a duke and duchess, it seemed impossible to focus on anything except the sound of her laughter.
No symphony could rival it.
Adam surveyed the building. “This is splendid.”
“Callum is a very wealthy duke,” Lady Isla said.
Adam’s eyebrows shot together. He was certain unmarried women shouldn’t be referring to dukes by their first name. He glanced at Lady Isla, but her face had grown paler, and he decided not to ask her that particular etiquette question.
“I thought all dukes were wealthy,” Adam muttered instead.
“Oh, it can be frightfully expensive to be a duke,” Isla explained. “All those houses to maintain.”
“You’re certain this is a small one?” Adam asked.
“Well, their main estate is in Scotland. Was in Scotland, actually. But he has a townhome in London which is—”
“—even grander than this?”
“Precisely. One does require adequate space for balls,” Lady Isla said authoritatively. “And then Callum’s brother Hamish is designing a home for Callum and his new wife in Guernsey. They’ve been going there frequently.”
A wistful sound to her voice made him jerk his head in her direction, but before he could ask her more, the door swung open.
“Lord Tremont, I presume?” A man in a dark suit who had the same superior air as Lady Isla’s butler stared at him.
“Indeed,” Lady Isla said crisply.
“Ah... Lady Isla. It is a pleasure.”
For a moment the butler seemed less menacing, and Adam forced himself not to frown. He’d thought butlers might consider it a duty to always appear threatening, as if believing their positions stemmed from medieval guards, but the butler’s disposition was decidedly favorable toward Lady Isla.
Not that I can blame him.
Adam stepped onto a wooden floor. For a moment he was distracted by the glossy floorboards. The room was beautiful, matching his expectations of a ducal residence, if not matching Lady Isla’s casual indifference.
A footman appeared to help them remove their coats. Isla shivered, despite the roaring hearth in the hallway. Her fingers trembled, but her jaw soon tightened, as if to steel herself.
Adam’s chest hurt.
This is my fault.
They were visiting aristocrats, and because Lady Isla was with him, she was nervous. No doubt she worried he would instantly make a fool of himself, and by extension, her.
He tried to remember all the stages of tea. It was easy, he was certain.
There were so many things to remember, and perhaps his nervousness at the sumptuousness of the house caused Lady Isla unease.
“Isla!” A man called out cheerfully from the landing. “Sweetheart.”
Adam’s eyes widened, and he jerked his gaze upward. Behind the balustrade was a handsome man. He had a faint Scottish accent, much like Lady Isla’s own.
Was this the duke? Were they truly on such casual terms?
Adam’s fists clenched automatically. The duke was married. He knew that much.
The strange man descended the steps rapidly, uncaring as the sound of his Hessians ricocheted about the room.
“You’re here?” Lady Isla’s voice was faint, and her face paled.
Her words were...unexpected.
Obviously, the duke would be here.
Who then, was this man?
Adam scrutinized him carefully. Something about the man seemed familiar. He tried to remember if he could place the man from Mrs. Hollins’ ball.
He could not.
But there was definitely something about the man’s chiseled features, something about the man’s coloring, something about the man’s tall form—
He swallowed hard.
Lady Isla’s brother.
He’d known she had one. It must be him.
He just hadn’t expected to meet her sole male relative at a tea. Somehow, it seemed much more important that Adam perform well.
Had she known her brother would be here? Surely she would have mentioned it.
Adam cleared his throat, and Lady Isla widened her eyes, as if recognizing her etiquette misstep. Her cheeks pinkened to a pretty shade, and she turned toward her brother.
“Lord McIntyre, Lord Tremont.” She then turned to Adam. “Lord Tremont, Lord McIntyre.”
Adam nodded, but Lord McIntyre appeared less cheerful. His eyes narrowed, and he turned to his sister. “I see you’ve been making acquaintances in this town.”
“Er—yes.” Lady Isla inhaled and she widened her stance. The nervousness on her face vanished. Perhaps her brother had not even see it, given its brevity, but Adam had. “Indeed. I have decided to make a home here.”
The earl switched his attention to Adam. “I have not seen you before.”
“Hence my introduction,” Lady Isla said icily.
“Right.”
“Besides, that merely means he is not a frequent visitor at Hades’ Lair,” Lady Isla added.
“I don’t spend much time there anymore.” Lord McIntyre shifted his legs, and the floorboards below creaked. Adam much preferred stone. Stone didn’t creak, revealing moods like a gossipy neighbor. “My wife doesn’t approve.”
“That’s because she’s sensible,” Lady Isla said.
“Yes.” Lord McIntyre’s previously stern expression shifted, and his eyes had the dewy look Adam associated with the infatuated.
“What’s all this chatting?” A voice sounded from the landing, and then an equally tall, broad shouldered man appeared.
“Hamish!” Lady Isla gave a delighted exclamation and she bounded up the stairs.
“Isla!” The tall man swung her around. “Good to see you!”
“Lord Hamish and I grew up together,” Lady Isla explained. She gestured to Adam to follow her, and he did.
His chest tightened.
These people had known one another for years, and Adam was only here because he was feigning to be someone else.
Lord Hamish scrutinized him, and Adam forced himself to appear cheerful, even though he felt more nervous than when he’d first entered.
One time a baron had visited Cape Town. The newspapers had written about the impending visit, and when the baron had arrived, men had been issued to protect him.
These men were higher ranked than a baron. And yet, here he was, standing beside them.
“We mustn’t keep the duchess waiting,” Lord
Hamish said.
Lady Isla’s smile wobbled. “I suppose not.”
“Before we enter,” Lord McIntyre said. “I have one question.”
“Oh?” Lady Isla’s voice squeaked. “Have you spoken with the solicitor? He didn’t permit me to purchase the home I’d selected. You must see him.”
“That’s not the question in my mind.” Lord McIntyre glanced at Adam. “How did the two of you meet?”
“Oh... We met at Mrs. Hollins’ place,” Lady Isla said.
“Yes. Yes.” Adam nodded enthusiastically.
Perhaps too enthusiastically.
Lord McIntyre’s eyes remained narrow, and Lady Isla strode hastily down the hallway. For a moment Adam thought she might be escaping altogether, but murmurings sounded as they neared a door.
Perhaps this was not the first time Lady Isla had visited the Duke and Duchess of Vernon.
She took Adam’s arm as they entered the room. She glanced at Adam, as if to reassure him, but he wondered later if it was also to reassure herself.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
It’s the same building.
Isla’s stomach twirled.
This wasn’t the first time Isla had been here. The last time had been two years ago when she and Callum were still betrothed. She’d wanted a home in Brighton even then, and Callum had teased her that she’d desired to be near the Prince Regent.
That hadn’t been the case.
But Isla had thought it appropriate to holiday in a place where there were actual people. She was from Scotland, and though she appreciated the idyllic remoteness of the plains, it was people she wanted to be near.
There were all sorts of people in Brighton.
The modern terraced homes with their large bay windows facing the sea appealed to her. She’d helped the Duke of Vernon choose this one, and they’d ambled around the house as they discussed what they would use each room for.
She’d suggested they use this room for tea. It was more conventional to have the reception room on the ground floor, but this room had better views of the ocean. It had seemed silly to have a view of plants and pebbles, when they could ascend a short flight of stairs and behold all the wonders of the English Channel.
Evidently, he’d remembered her plan.
Her heart tightened, even though Isla strove to be cool and aloof and sophisticated.
This wasn’t the first time she’d seen him after he’d decided to elope with Miss Charlotte Butterfield. He’d appeared at a few balls, and he’d even visited her home in Scotland.
After a period of anger, Wolfe had been glad to see his old friend, eager to rekindle their friendship, and Isla had thought perhaps they could all be friends, just as they had been when they were young.
Isla hadn’t seen any of them since.
She inhaled and stepped into the room. Her feet sank into the thick pile of an oriental carpet, doubtless priceless, and she gazed up.
Callum—the Duke of Vernon, she corrected herself—was opposite. Beside him was his wife, and beside her were a man and woman she didn’t recognize. Both people were tall and blond and handsome, and Isla suspected they were siblings. The Duke and Duchess of Belmonte were also present, as well as a ginger-bearded man she couldn’t place.
Her throat dried.
She’d spent so long being nervous for the viscount, she’d forgotten to be nervous herself.
But her heart was definitely beating at a higher pace, and her legs seemed to have lost their general reliability, as if realizing for the first time the oddity that they had to hold the rest of her body up in addition to their function of walking.
The duke rose rapidly, and she wondered whether it was more from a sense of politeness or nervousness.
Isla’s gaze dropped to the Duchess of Vernon.
The blonde, petite and expecting Duchess of Vernon.
The duchess’s stomach jutted out, and Isla felt her eyebrows raise and her mouth drop, even when she reminded herself she shouldn’t experience surprise. After all, the Duke and Duchess of Vernon were married. Why wouldn’t the duchess be with child? Every duke desired an heir, and they could provide for more than sufficient spares.
Still, Isla wasn’t accustomed to actually seeing the signs of an expecting mother. Most women locked themselves away during such times. In fact, making appearances in such states was considered most improper. But then, the duchess had always been naïve about the ways of the ton. She hadn’t followed etiquette rules as a debutante, and it should be no surprise she failed to follow them now. And then, they were in the duchess’s home.
“C-congratulations,” Isla stammered finally.
The duchess gave a placid smile and patted her stomach. “Thank you.”
“I didn’t know.”
“I’m not one for festivities,” the duchess said. “And especially not at this time.”
“She’s four months along,” the duke said proudly.
“We’re going to Guernsey next month,” the duchess said.
“You want to have the baby there?” Isla asked, startled.
“Yes,” the duchess said, rubbing her belly absentmindedly.
“It’s not a journey for an infant to make,” the duke explained. “The sun and warmer weather will be good for him.”
“Better than the capital’s smog,” Isla said.
“Precisely,” the duke replied, grinning at her, and she remembered why people had deemed them a perfect couple.
They’d danced so well together, and people had praised their ability to anticipate each other’s steps.
But Isla hadn’t anticipated the duke would break their engagement.
She hadn’t imagined he would break it in so public a manner by eloping, as if calculated to garner the most gossip.
She’d thought him dissatisfied with their betrothal, but which man was not? Betrothals were things to be endured for the good of future generations. She hadn’t liked to see him unhappy, and until last summer, she’d been content to continue to refrain from setting a date for their wedding.
And now he was happy, and that was wonderful, but it occurred to Isla she was not happy.
She forced herself to smile, because politeness demanded it, and when the duchess gestured to a chair, she took it gladly, but more so she had something to do with her limbs.
Lord Tremont followed her into the room, and the duke and duchess dipped into the requisite bows and curtsies.
It took Isla a moment to remember she was supposed to be nervous for the viscount, rather than for herself.
But when she turned to assess him as surreptitiously as possible, she saw there was no need. He was referring to people by their correct titles, and he hadn’t fallen into the odd mixture of accents that seemed to be his natural tendency.
The duchess gestured to the tall blonde strangers beside her. “Lady Isla, Lord Tremont, Lord Braunschweig and his sister, Miss Braunschweig.”
Isla gave a tight smile. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Miss Braunschweig echoed Isla’s sentiment.
“And you know the Duke of Belmonte and his wife?”
Isla nodded. “We’ve met.”
The Duchess of Belmonte gazed at Isla warily, and she wondered what Callum’s wife had said about her. Most likely nothing good.
“Lady Isla, Captain Fergus,” the duchess said finally, gesturing to a bearded man.
She turned to Lord Tremont. “And this is—”
“The viscount!” The Duke of Belmonte beamed. “We finally meet.”
Lord Tremont shrugged and he had a sheepish expression on his face. “Thank you for your hospitality.”
“Well, we’re delighted to meet you, aren’t we, Louisa?”
“We’re just delighted,” the Duchess of Belmonte said, her strong American accent filling the room. “You should have heard the tales Captain Fergus told about you!”
“Good to see you,” the bushy-bearded man said.
Isla blinked.
These wer
e people Isla was supposed to know. But it seemed, Lord Tremont already knew half of them.
The maid appeared with tea, and the duchess poured for them.
“How have you been?” Callum asked Isla.
“Splendid,” Isla said, a trifle too brightly.
Never mind.
He could think her enthusiastic to be alone. What was wrong with that?
Callum turned to Lord Tremont. “I hope you are enjoying your time in Brighton.”
“Very much so,” Lord Tremont replied.
The duke frowned, perhaps recognizing Lord Tremont’s faint accent.
“I’m new to the city,” Lord Tremont said. “New to Britain in fact.”
“Oh?” The duchess leaned forward. “Where are you from?”
“Most recently the Cape Colony.”
The others blinked. No doubt they hadn’t met someone who’d lived there before.
“How fascinating.” Wolfe glanced at Isla, as if pondering whether Isla had taken up a particular interest in colonial matters.
Perhaps he was worried she might decide to move to the Cape Colony herself. He’d hosted a ball in Scotland last Christmas when she’d informed him she planned to visit the French Riviera, but not before informing her of all the dangers of the Continent.
“I was surprised Lady Isla suggested we invite you,” the duke remarked. “But it seems you have a fascinating past.”
“You must tell me about Africa,” the duchess said, pushing her pince-nez higher on her nose. “I have only read about that continent. I find it most interesting.”
“Oh, it’s fine, I suppose,” Lord Tremont said.
Isla’s heartbeat quickened. Perhaps they would see through him.
“I—er—heard you were interested in mathematics,” Lord Tremont said gamely, and she gave him an approving nod. “How is that?”
“How is mathematics?” The Duchess of Vernon blinked. “It’s much the same. Well, there have been some interesting theorems presented in the latest Journal of Exceedingly Advanced Mathematics. Tell me, is mathematics of interest to you?”
Lord Tremont shifted in obvious discomfort. Isla attempted to mask her own discomfort and gave a hearty sip of tea, before she remembered she’d forgotten to stir her sugar.
She had the horrible impression her nervousness was evident in her gaze. Wolfe kept on turning his head from Isla to Lord Tremont, though she didn’t think anyone else noticed.
How to Train a Viscount (Wedding Trouble, #4) Page 8