Ever since Callum had broken their engagement, her brother had developed a habit of matchmaking, as if he thought it his duty to take on extra duties for Cupid.
If she’d known her brother would attend, she would never have suggested the duchess invite the viscount. She couldn’t very well tell her brother that Lord Tremont was paying her to give him etiquette lessons. Her brother would be shocked she was spending time alone with him.
It just didn’t seem more pleasant that her brother thought her sufficiently besotted by the viscount to insist on having him accompany her.
Still... The viscount wasn’t exactly devoid of handsomeness. Perhaps her brother’s suspicions were not entirely improbable.
Particularly now she’d taught the viscount how to tie his cravat, and she’d emphasized the importance of unwrinkled attire and the general wonders and overall importance of umbrellas.
His hair was brushed, and the light from the windows caused his hair to gleam. The caramel strands of his hair were appealing to look at, and there was nothing wrong with his figure.
In fact, Isla had the general sense there was much correct about his figure.
Broad shoulders, for instance.
Chiseled facial features.
Sparkling eyes.
She swallowed hard and took another sip of tea.
Lord Tremont was supposed to be silent. She’d told him the importance of being silent. His conversation to others should be confined to questions, designed to make his conversation partner feel important and to conceal the dearth of his own vocabulary and his uneven grasp of an upper class accent.
Unfortunately, the man was currently regaling the group about the Cape Colony.
They were laughing.
They were all laughing.
The Duchess of Belmonte and the Duchess of Vernon had never laughed when they’d had tea with her before. They’d been stiff and curt and had spent most of the time speaking about weather patterns, even though Isla knew the Duchess of Belmonte interested herself in fish rather than gales and gusts.
Even when the weather decided to be particularly windy and particularly wet, it never produced anything to which British were not unaccustomed.
Speaking about the weather was the sort of conversation one entered into when one was determined to not hear silence, spurred more by a sense of duty than conversation.
Isla wasn’t certain she’d ever seen the Duchess of Vernon even smile before, but now her laugh filled the room, as if leaping from every wall.
“And then the elephant paraded down the street,” Lord Tremont said, finishing the story.
This is what I wanted.
Lord Tremont was becoming accepted into society.
“You should have brought your monkey here,” Captain Fergus said.
“You have a monkey?” Wolfe’s eyes widened. “How incredible.”
“I like animals,” Lord Tremont said.
“My sister is fond of animals,” Wolfe said. “She has a dog.”
“Oh?” Lord Tremont asked and he seemed to struggle to retain an innocent expression on his face, as if he’d not personally met Dido multiple times.
The conversation soon shifted, and Isla found herself sighing with relief.
It will be fine.
Nobody suspected, even though they should.
Finally, after the crumpets and scones were eaten, and she’d swallowed her second cup of tea, Isla rose.
She might as well leave.
Lord Tremont was doing fine without her. The others gave their requisite bows and curtsies. They chatted merrily, and their voices carried easily even through the thick door.
Lord Tremont’s loud laugh barreled through the room.
Everyone seemed to like him.
In fact, everyone seemed to be displaying their own, equally noisy laughs.
CHAPTER TWELVE
She was gone.
Her seat was still there, but the pillow had long since swollen to regain its past shape, and the maid moved it out of the way when she next came to the room with more hot water.
Lady Isla had said goodbye and left the tea, and Adam stared at the others.
Have I been abandoned?
But it didn’t feel like abandonment. Had it been actual abandonment, no one would be smiling and laughing.
Perhaps Lady Isla thinks I don’t need her.
The thought was thrilling, and for a fleeting moment, happiness thrummed through his heart.
He could do this.
I am doing this.
He’d been so intimidated by them, but they were all nice.
Adam turned to the brother and sister at the table. They’d been quiet through most of the meal, though they’d also managed to eat most of the crumpets. Adam didn’t blame them. The food was good.
“How do you like England?” Adam asked.
“Ach, it’s good,” the baron said. “Naturlich.”
“Very beautiful,” the baron’s sister said.
“Is it quite different from Germany?” Adam asked.
“Of course.” The baron wrinkled his brow somewhat and shifted in his seat. “But the Cape Colony is far more interesting than our little compilation of principalities.”
Adam shrugged. “Which part of Germany do you come from?”
The baron and his sister exchanged a glance.
“A very small part. Quite insignificant,” the sister said.
“Though not without importance,” the brother said hastily, as if the sister had revealed his rank was not of great significance after all.
Adam remembered Isla’s comment about Continentals, and he furrowed his brow. “When did you meet the Duke and Duchess of Vernon?”
“Last year,” Lord Braunschweig said.
Oh.
Perhaps they were not swindlers. Adam cursed his earlier suspicion.
The two talked more, but the conversation shifted to banalities. Lord Braunschweig and his sister seemed intent to confining their conversation to the casual.
It was good.
Fortunate, even.
Adam had worried they might enter into a discussion that included politics or history, things which would show he wasn’t truly Randall.
He didn’t want to reveal the extent of his unfamiliarity with England.
He didn’t want to reveal just how strange he found this country.
And it seemed he wouldn’t have to do so.
“I must say, it has been most delightful to make your acquaintance,” the duke said.
“It was nice meeting you,” Adam said hurriedly.
The duke beamed, and his wife, the duchess, beamed at her husband, as if equally impressed at her husband’s politeness.
Unlike Lady Isla’s encouraging smiles when he’d remembered to say or do the right thing, Adam had the impression the duchess would smile adoringly at her husband even if she fully expected him to say or do the right thing. He wanted Lady Isla to have a similar confidence in him.
Adam wondered why he seemed to think of Lady Isla now. Adam knew he should be happy she’d left. If Lady Isla wasn’t here, it meant she didn’t feel her presence was required. Lady Isla was thorough and she was responsible. She wouldn’t have left him alone with so many noblemen if she felt he would make a mistake.
The tea had gone well—was going well, and she’d known it.
The only emotion Adam should feel was pride.
When he visited Mr. Gilroy, he would be able to drop various names into the conversation. The solicitor would be less likely to commence an investigation to verify his identity, and Adam would be safe.
Forever.
“Would you like to join us for dinner?” the Duchess of Belmonte asked.
“I’m happy to,” Adam said, glad this was one invitation he had no qualms accepting.
“Wonderful,” she exclaimed. “I’m certain Cook will be able to scrounge up some more food. It will be most informal, but it will entail fish.”
“Fish I caught,” th
e Duke of Belmonte said casually. He flicked his wrist. “I did it just like that.”
“How—er—splendid,” Adam said.
“It is rather,” the Duke of Belmonte remarked.
Captain Fergus leaned closer to Adam. “Particularly because the duke has always been a bad fisherman.”
“Fergus!” The duke groaned. “You’re not supposed to say that. My wife is here!”
“’Tis true,” Captain Fergus said defiantly. “Ain’t your fault though. Fishing is difficult.”
“I kept you safe from so many pirates,” the duke wailed. “And we survived so many storms.”
“And if we were depending on you for fish, we would have starved,” Captain Fergus said.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” the Duchess of Belmonte said soothingly. “I know plenty about fish.”
“You sure do,” Captain Fergus said admiringly. “And all the ways to kill them too!”
“My wife is one of the finest scientists in the country,” the Duke of Belmonte said. “She practically created the field of ichthyology.”
“It’s the study of fish,” the Duchess of Belmonte whispered to Adam. “It’s all quite obscure.”
“Nonsense,” the duke said. “Fish are everywhere!”
The maid gazed at the plates with a concerned look on her face, as if she expected to find a flounder tucked underneath one of the uneaten crumpets.
“Everywhere in the water,” the duke amended hastily. “I’m sorry, Betty.”
“That’s fine, Your Grace.”
Adam tried not to stare.
Whenever he’d thought about aristocrats, he’d considered them impossibly aloof and liable to act impossibly cruel. And perhaps that was the case for many, just as it was perhaps the case for many regular people. But it was absolutely not the case with these people.
They were kind and pleasant and when Adam next looked at the large painted grandfather clock, he was startled by the time.
He should be making his excuses to leave, just so he might dance with relief. He should be grinning, he should be laughing.
But though he’d done plenty of those things already at the tea, there was one thought in his mind now: was Lady Isla well?
He’d spent several days with her. He’d never seen her appear uncertain before, even though his presence must inspire uncertainty.
Had something upset her? She’d seemed unusually withdrawn.
It was suddenly very important that Lady Isla not be upset.
After all, she’d helped him.
Greatly.
He rose abruptly, wishing when he glanced down that he’d drained the freshly poured tea.
No matter.
They could think him unappreciative of tea’s magnificence. In all honesty, he thought tea was quite overrated, despite the care with which it had been locked in a wooden box and the excitement the others seemed to have to imbibe it.
“I should go,” he said.
“To the ship?” Captain Fergus asked.
“Would you like me to drive you in my carriage?” Lord McIntyre asked.
“That will not be necessary,” Adam said. “I would like to walk.”
Captain Fergus grinned. “You used to seem ‘orrified by the rain.”
“I’ve found I quite like it here,” Adam said truthfully.
Besides, the last thing he needed was for Isla’s brother to spend too much time with him. Lord McIntyre had seemed to have strong protective instincts, as if Adam were truly a viscount who might sweep Isla away, and not just a man who’d stumbled into a murder.
Especially when the place he desired to go was to Isla herself.
After all, there was one person he needed to see.
One lovely person.
One person who’d left far too early.
He remembered to bow, and he thought he addressed everyone in the correct manner.
He procured invitations to visit them again, and he even extended an invitation to them to visit his new estate in Wiltshire, once he visited his solicitor in London and obtained the keys.
They seemed amenable to the idea, even though he knew he had no business with these people, much less offering them invitations to his new home.
Soon he exited the grand townhome. The sound of the waves were harsher, now they were no longer obscured by the glass windowpanes in the duke’s and duchess’s magnificent sitting room, and the rain had evidently decided to join in. The raindrops thundered down, as if seeking to rival the strength and sound of the waves, even though it would always be an impossibility. Adam withdrew his umbrella and opened it. He strolled through the town, appreciating his newfound safety from the rain.
Had she left early as some sort of training exercise? He’d known parents who’d considered themselves great teachers of swimming purely for tossing their children into a river, and letting them discover the process of staying afloat.
And yet, Lady Isla’s face had seemed a trifle paler than normal, and her movements had been stiffer.
Perhaps she’d simply given the occasion the formality it deserved, for all of the talk of fish and despite the presence of Captain Fergus.
Yes, that’s probably it.
For a moment his mind was reassured, and the raindrops seemed less cold, and certainly less heavy, than they’d been a minute before. Raindrops should never be heavy, but for a brief, very brief, time he’d considered them to be.
He shouldn’t be worried about Lady Isla, he reminded himself. The woman emanated competence.
Still, Adam did not change course.
He marched through the rain, tramping through the vast puddles that hadn’t been on the pavement a few hours earlier, but which now seemed to be the only thing there.
Finally, he came to her home. He grasped hold of the knocker, avoiding the solemn glare of the iron lion’s head. He rapped on the door and waited for the butler to appear.
The door opened.
“Lord Tremont.” The butler’s tone was icy. Adam wouldn’t expect anything less, and he grinned.
He pushed through the door.
“If you are here to see Lady Isla,” the butler said. “She is not at home.”
Adam blinked. “Nonsense, she must be here.”
“Then perhaps she has achieved a power of invisibility, and you have achieved the power to sense invisibility,” the butler said stiffly.
“Lady Isla! Lady Isla!” Adam called out.
He knew when someone was not ‘at home,’ they might still be very present. Lady Isla had taught him that herself. Perhaps Lady Isla was not receiving visitors, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t see him.
He didn’t care if she wasn’t dressed in her finest afternoon dress, or if her hair was tousled from the poor weather.
“Lady Isla!”
“She is not home,” the butler repeated. “In—er—every sense.”
Adam halted his pacing. “Oh. How odd.”
“She is likely still at the tea,” the butler said.
“No,” Adam said. “She left early.”
The butler’s stalwart demeanor faltered, and for a moment Adam thought the butler might suggest they search Brighton’s streets for her.
The next moment though the door knocker sounded, and the butler hastily opened the door.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Lady Isla was there.
A rather wet, rather fragile version, but it was definitely her.
“My Lady!” The butler widened his eyes.
“Lord Tremont?” she squeaked.
“You’re wet,” Adam said dumbly.
“Er—yes. I was in the garden after the carriage returned.” Lady Isla’s skin pinkened. “What are you doing here?”
“I was worried about you,” he confessed.
“It seems I underestimated your powers,” the butler said drily to Adam.
“I’m fine,” Lady Isla said, raising her chin, seeming oblivious to the fact that water continued to drip from it. “Obviously.”
“I—” Isla’s slender throat moved, as if she were swallowing. She still seemed uneasy.
“I think you require a second tea,” Adam said.
“A second tea?” Isla’s lips curled. “I don’t believe you like any tea.”
“And yet, you do.” He shrugged. “Besides, perhaps I’ve developed a passion for it. And I think it would have certain definite warming benefits.”
“I shall inform the housekeeper,” the butler said. “The viscount is correct about the benefits of hot drinks. I’m personally partial to honey, hot water and—er—brandy.”
“That is genius,” Adam said. “I shall have that.”
“Very well, My Lord.” Giles gave a slight bow.
“You know, I believe I’m growing on him,” Adam remarked, once the butler had left the room.
“You are most affable,” Isla said, but her voice sounded more wistful, and he gazed at her sharply.
“I’ll meet you in the parlor,” Isla said.
“Very well.” He hesitated and then gave a bow.
She grinned and dipped into a curtsy. In the next moment, she was gone.
Adam gazed around the hallway.
Isla appeared soon. She’d changed her attire, and she wore a cap. The hair that was visible was arranged in a simple style.
“Your hair isn’t curly,” he said.
“No.”
“It’s straight.”
She nodded. “Are we learning about shapes?”
“Er—no.” He looked down. “Naturally not. I just meant it’s...pretty.” The word came out hoarsely, even though it was two simple syllables, and neither one should have the power to transform his throat to hoarseness or cause his chest to ache.
Lady Isla had told him men were supposed to give women compliments. A generosity with compliments was a sign of a gentleman.
And yet, this compliment had seemed like...more.
This compliment seemed to reveal things he wasn’t certain existed.
He looked down hastily and hoped Lady Isla would not think his sudden fascination with his napkin too absurd. After all, the pattern was not unappealing, though Adam never understood the fascination women had with putting flowers on their dresses, their china, their textiles, when they could go outside and see real flowers.
How to Train a Viscount (Wedding Trouble, #4) Page 9