Edward pulled her around and added, “Nicholas is trustworthy, just…frosty.”
“Frosty?” She left off gazing at the rapidly departing figure carrying her friend and skewered her mate with a glance full of righteous ire. “You jest? At a time such as this?”
“She’ll come to no harm, that I can promise.”
“She better not.” Anne spied the ermine muff off to the side and bent to retrieve it. “Why did you not tell him? I cannot believe you—”
“Me? In case it escaped your awareness, we have other guests to attend.” Indicating the churning clouds above, Edward took her arm and began guiding her reluctant form toward town. “We’ll all do well to enjoy our time outside before sleet chases us in. As to Nicholas and Isabella, I witnessed the two of them in conversation last eve and assumed you had already done so.”
“I hadn’t a chance, given how late he appeared, but…” Recalling how very protective Frost had been just now and the way Isabella had tucked herself against his chest, Anne allowed herself to relax. “It does appear that’s of no consequence now. Forgive me. You’re right—I’m sure things between them will be fine as five pence in no time.”
“Which is more than I can say for you if you insist on belittling my friends.”
Anne heard his piqued tone and leaned into his side, brushing the silky fur over the stump of his missing arm. “I was worried about her, ’tis all.”
“I know.”
“I shall apologize to him.”
Edward hugged her tight. “I know that too.”
A satisfied smile curved lips no longer human.
Nudging the maid tidying Isabella’s room to put away the gloves had been inspired! Though perhaps not her best idea, given the condition of her daughter’s hands. At least the act had necessitated Nicholas draw close to Issybelle—though it appeared he’d needed little prodding on that score!
A gentle wing fluttered behind her back in the nonexistent breeze. She brought its mate around and nestled her head within its softness, much as her daughter was doing against the man’s neckcloth.
She watched him carrying her precious offspring and warmed at the sight, though she did wish she had someone to share her hope with. For now that Isabella had finally escaped the environs of her uncompromising father, there was much hope to be had.
Ah yes…skinned palms aside, a day well conceived.
Chapter Three
A Festive Berry Comes to Hand
“Tell me how it happened.”
Isabella considered reminding him not to order her about. But on some strange level she liked it—the way he paid her such focused attention. It was flattering after being all but ignored by her father for so long. And contrary to the sometimes smothering, sometimes doltish way—as if being blind somehow blinded her brain’s ability to comprehend—strangers often prattled about in her presence, she rather liked how he treated her as she surmised he treated everyone else. In fact—
“Well?” his velvety voice intoned from far above her position on the settee. Her posterior had barely connected with the upholstery before he barreled into the room, barking orders. “Prevaricate no more. We’re alone now so have at it.”
His obvious impatience made her smile. He’d given no quarter from the moment he’d set foot inside—still carrying her—quickly summoning a maid to put away their coats and scarves, and the housekeeper to clean, apply salve and bandage her palms. Noting how competently he made demands of servants who had no allegiance to him and even more, how quickly they complied with each of his wishes, caused her to realize what an imposing man she’d somehow collected as her champion.
Her entire left side came alive when he settled beside her and gingerly lifted each wrist, turning them hither and yon, scrutinizing the wrappings, or so she assumed when he complimented, “She is to be commended, that Mrs. Parksen. Did a fine job of it. How do they feel?”
Better now that he was holding them. “As though I dispatched my gloves, kicked my feet in the air and ran barehanded across the gravel path.”
“Well, call me a cur’s cracker!”
She subdued the urge to laugh out loud as he’d just compared himself to a dog’s hindquarters. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t.”
“Aye.” Done with his inspection, he returned her hands to her lap. Unaccountably, she wished she had twisted her ankle. If the heat streaking up her arms was any indication, he’d have her legs warm for a month! “If it’s guilt you seek to heap upon my head—”