“I believe I shall follow Cheswick’s lead and seek a rest,” added Montfort.
With the departure of Montfort, Isabel noted a release of tension from Eva’s body. If he’d been surprised by the presence of Eva, he hadn’t betrayed the emotion. A splinter of portent wedged itself inside Isabel’s mind. Both of them on the estate, each knowing the other was here, was no good thing.
“Oh, I know what we can do to counter the boredom of this deadly dull day,” called out Miss Bretagne. “Let’s ride out to the eerie ruined monastery that the Vikings destroyed a thousand years ago. Mina, does that sound interesting enough for you?”
Miss Radclyffe rested her book on her lap. “Yes.”
The Duchess set her hands on her hips. “And who will be your chaperone? I must meet with Cook and Butler about preparations for our village breakfast and dance. I cannot think who would venture out with you in this oppressive heat.”
Malicious glint in her eye, Miss Bretagne smiled. “My new step-mama, of course. What a wonderful opportunity to become properly acquainted with one another. Really, it would be a tragedy to allow the chance to slip away.”
Isabel opened her mouth to make her excuses when Eva spoke. “Isabel would love nothing more.”
A flummoxed beat passed. “And you, dear sister?” Isabel asked, hoping to give Eva a taste of her own tonic. “Won’t you join?”
Eva shook her head. “I shall stay here and draw inspiration from Lady Bertrand about what new designs I should create for the Misses Bretagne and Radclyffe’s dresses.” When Miss Bretagne’s face twisted with doubt, Eva winked at the girl. “Inspiration comes from many sources, no?”
“Possibly,” Miss Bretagne said slowly, her misgiving not the least assuaged. “So, what say you, dearest step-mama?”
Isabel commanded her mouth to curve into the impression of a smile. “I should like nothing more.”
Miss Fox gave a delicate clearing of her throat. “Would you mind very much if I joined your little party? I do love a good ruin.”
Miss Bretagne clapped her hands together. “It’s settled. We meet in the stables fifteen minutes hence.”
~ ~ ~
Isabel relaxed into the easy trot of her mount.
Ahead, the Misses Bretagne and Radclyffe, along with Lord Avendon, galloped across verdant fields, tall grass swaying in a breeze scented with salt from the nearby sea, its shimmer in the far distance. A thick blanket of clouds had rolled in and cooled the air, making it perfectly pleasant for a ride.
Isabel, meanwhile, kept pace with a silent Miss Fox as it was obvious Miss Bretagne had had no intention of becoming further acquainted with her new step-mama. Isabel almost felt insulted. Then she remembered who she was.
“What a dashing love match you and Lord Percival have made,” Miss Fox observed out of the not-so-clear blue sky.
Isabel stared ahead and emitted a noncommittal, “Hmm.”
“But true love is quite a force, no?”
“Hmm.”
“Unstoppable.”
“You speak as if from experience,” Isabel replied, hoping to catch the woman on her left foot.
Miss Fox chuckled. If a laugh could be a shrug, hers was. “Never, Lady Percival. I believe myself uniquely immune to love’s particular poison. But I, like many a spinster before me, am a keen observer of it. And you are positively glowing from its salubrious effects. Unless, of course, you’ve caught a summer fever.”
“Didn’t you just call love a poison?”
Another unruffled chuckle. “One woman’s poison is another woman’s cure.”
Isabel glanced over and spied a rather vulpine smile curling about Miss Fox’s mouth. The woman was impossible to catch out. “You have quite a lively mind, Miss Fox. How do you occupy it? I can’t imagine you lolling about a drawing room all day.”
“Your opinion of noble ladies is so high as that, my lady?” Miss Fox was most definitely toying with her. “If you must know, a few years ago my father won a small press in a card game. I’ve taken an interest in its various publications. Recently, we added a scientific journal to its number.”
“You run the press yourself?”
“Can you imagine Cheswick taking an interest in the written word?”
“I’ve only just met him.”
“You’ve learned everything you need to know about my father, you can take my word for it. Outré sense of humor. Life of every party. Beloved by all, with the exception of his creditors.” She spoke that last horrible truth lightly, but it was a forced levity. “However, let us not stray from our original subject. I find it infinitely more interesting than needlework and endless rounds of social calls. You and I know what Society doesn’t. A woman needs to keep herself industriously occupied, even gainfully, if possible.”
The fine hairs on Isabel’s neck lifted on end. “You and I know this?”
“I refer to your shop, of course. Galante: Dressmakers Extraordinaire. Quite a grand name, if I may say.”
“My sister chose it.”
“Well, you and your sister are building quite a reputation for quality, fashionable clothes for women of the middling classes.”
“I wouldn’t go that far. We’ve had our challenges this year.” Challenges she wouldn’t be sharing with this woman.
“No need to be so modest, Lady Percival, your renown is growing.”
Miss Fox was most definitely hunting Isabel, for there was no possibility of her knowing this information without having sought it out prior to today. She sensed Montfort’s hand in this.
“Of course,” continued Miss Fox, “I can’t imagine Lord Percival falling madly in love with just any filly enough to elope with her, no matter how fine.”
That last bit was a joke, a riff on Cheswick’s words, but Isabel couldn’t quite summon a laugh. It was very possible that Miss Fox and her curious mind would reach the correct conclusion about Isabel and Lord Percival’s ruse.
And then what?
It was too horrible to contemplate.
“No, Lord Percival wouldn’t want a wife who depended on him solely for her happiness and fulfillment. I believe he’s been down that road. Didn’t suit him, or the wife, I dare say.” Miss Fox flicked her wrist as if the conversation was of little consequence. “I digress. My theory is that your Spanish-ness is what tipped infatuation into madness.” From Miss Fox’s lips, it didn’t sound like a compliment.