Once a Duchess(58)

 

“Certainly, my lord,” she said.

 

The dowager visibly seethed, but said nothing as Lord Woolsley led Isabelle to the waltz.

 

This dance with the viscount came more easily, as Isabelle was familiar with his own particular gait and matched hers to his.

 

She leaned her head closer to her rescuer. He inclined his as well, the barest hint of humor touching his eyes. “I suppose it comes as no surprise to hear you saved me from a most unpleasant encounter, my lord.”

 

“Really?” His pale eyes glinted. “And here I thought I was stealing you away from something of a family reunion  . Your former mother-in-law’s regard for you is legendary.”

 

Isabelle flushed at his jibe.

 

He squeezed her waist. “I’m afraid I’ve caused you a new problem, however.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“This is our second dance,” he said gravely. “People will talk.”

 

At that, Isabelle could not help but throw her head back and laugh. “My lord,” she said when she’d recovered herself, “if people did not talk about me, I should be forced to conclude I’d died and gone to heaven. Being the object of gossip is nothing new. If the worst people can comment upon is two sets with a gentleman, I shall consider myself lucky.”

 

Viscount Woolsley’s eyes widened slightly. “You do not mind being the object of salacious gossip?”

 

Isabelle scoffed. “Of course I mind! But what’s to be done? The ton ripped me to shreds years ago. If they want to work themselves up over the scraps of my reputation now, there is little I can do.”

 

Viscount Woolsley’s eyes softened at the corners, and his lips turned up at one side. “What a remarkably refreshing attitude. Might I come to call tomorrow?”

 

• • •

 

“Viscount Woolsley?” Alexander had finally arrived in town, after being detained by some difficulties at Fairfax Hall. He accepted a glass of sherry from the Bachmans’ butler and waited for the man to shut the parlor door. Then, a wide grin spread across his face. “That’s wonderful, Isa! We couldn’t ask for better. No duke, to be sure, but still, a viscount is nothing to sniff at.” He clapped Isabelle on the shoulder as though she were one of his male friends. “Are you sure?” he asked. “Shall I be expecting a visit from him?”

 

Isabelle plastered on a bright smile for her brother’s benefit. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, but I believe he is not without regard. He’s been to call twice in the last week, and this afternoon he’s taking me for a ride.”

 

“Ha!” Pride beamed from his eyes. “Well done, little sister.” He tossed back the rest of his drink and relaxed into the sofa cushions. “You don’t know how relieved I am to hear this. I don’t mind saying now that I was becoming nervous, with you still unattached.”

 

Isabelle flinched. Her brother’s thoughtless words reminded her how undesirable she was to society. She should be as thrilled as Alex that she’d managed to interest someone like Lord Woolsley.

 

But she wasn’t.

 

The things Woolsley could provide for her — a good name, children, a home of her own — were enticing. The man himself, however, did little for her. Something about him unsettled her, and not in the happy way she remembered from her courtship with Marshall.

 

“Why are you frowning?”

 

Isabelle looked up to see Alexander studying her intently. “Was I?” Her smile clicked back into place.

 

“Isa … ” Her own name became a word of warning. “Don’t muck this up. You’ll continue to encourage Lord Woolsley’s attentions, and you will accept him when he offers for you. Which could very well be at Montwaithe’s musicale this Saturday.”

 

She looked down at her hands and nodded. “I know, Alex,” she said softly.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Thirteen

 

 

The musicale at Marshall’s Grosvenor Square house began well enough — it was the end that became the talk of high society for days afterward.

 

Isabelle descended from the stuffy confines of the carriage and patted her upswept hair, making sure it had not come loose as a result of the unusual bout of heat and humidity. A footman escorted Alexander and Isabelle to a salon at the rear of the house, where fifty guests mingled around the perimeter of the room. Rows of padded chairs occupied the room’s middle, and a large, dark pianoforte stood front and center.

 

Instinctively she sought out Marshall. She spotted him across the room at the same time as Alex. Her brother steered her toward their host.