Giving up her hair and complexion for a lost cause, she rather unenthusiastically set about selecting her attire. Not caring a whit whom she did or did not impress, she chose the most unfashionable, utilitarian garment in the closet, a bilious morning dress. It didn’t become her at all. If anything, she looked faintly jaundiced.
Good, she thought petulantly. It suited her mood to look as bad as she felt.
Having completed what would have to pass for her morning toilette, Isabelle went searching for her brother. They needed to have a very serious talk.
She found Lily first, curled up with a book in a chair in her father’s study.
“Have you seen Alex?” she asked without preamble.
Her friend looked up from her book. “I saw him at breakfast, but he’s gone out now. He mentioned a farm equipment exposition.”
Isabelle sighed. “Did he say when he’d be back?”
“No.” Lily straightened in her chair and closed her book. “What’s the matter, Isa? You look dreadful, if you don’t mind my saying. Are you ill?”
Isabelle shook her head. “No. I just have a headache.” She squeezed her lids closed. A dull throbbing beat steadily behind her eyes. Maybe it had been a bad idea to drag herself out of bed at all.
“Sit down.” Lily gestured to another chair, a worried frown on her face. “Have you eaten? I’ll call for tea.”
“Please don’t.” Isabelle waved away Lily’s concern. She licked her dry lips. “Well, maybe just some tea. I don’t think I could eat, though.”
Lily rang for the maid and requested tea. She glanced sideways at Isabelle. “With heavy refreshments,” she added.
When the servant had gone, Lily returned to her seat. “Whatever’s the matter?” She scrutinized Isabelle’s appearance with a questioning look. “Something worse than a headache is bothering you. Did Viscount Woolsley propose last night?” Her brown eyes lit up.
Isabelle laughed humorlessly. She dropped the strand of hair she’d been twirling around a finger. “He did, but not like you’d think.”
She recounted the previous evening’s conversation with Lord Woolsley.
With every passing sentence, Lily’s expression darkened. When Isabelle repeated what he’d said about there not being much difference between a divorcée and a whore, Lily gasped in shocked outrage. “He never did! Why, that blackguard,” she seethed. “How dare he insult you so? Did Alex call him out?”
Isabelle shook her head. Just then, tea arrived. The pastries and slices of cold ham on the platter looked a little tempting, after all. Isabelle helped herself to some.
“That’s not the worst of it.”
Lily set her teacup firmly in the saucer. “Tell me that vile man didn’t open his mouth again.”
Isabelle worked a piece of scone loose. “Oh, no.” She shook her head, her heart pounding as she recalled every vivid detail of the previous night. “Marshall made sure of that.” At Lily’s questioning look she explained, “He thumped Lord Woolsley insensible.”
Rather than the shock she expected to see on her friend’s face, Lily grinned. “Did he really? How marvelously romantic.”
“It wasn’t romantic,” Isabelle protested. “It was violent and foolish and … ” She made an exasperated sound.
“Romantic?” Lily offered. She sipped her tea, smiling into her cup. “So, after Monthwaite jumped to defend your honor, what happened?”
Isabelle scoffed. “You won’t believe me if tell you. This is where things really took a turn for the fantastic.”
Lily quirked a skeptical brow. Isabelle proceeded to relate the rest of the story: the crowd he’d attracted and subsequently booted from the house; the arguing in the library; Marshall’s empty apologies and promises.
“Ho, now,” Lily interjected. “What makes you so sure he doesn’t mean what he says?”
“Because he never means what he says when it comes to me,” Isabelle snapped. “Not when it matters, anyway. He said his wedding vows, but he didn’t mean those, did he?”
Lily shrugged. “But if he realizes the dreadful blunder he made, surely you can allow that possibility?”
Isabelle picked at a bit of lint on the chair’s arm. “Why are you taking his part?”
“I’m not,” Lily said. “Not necessarily. My primary complaint against Monthwaite was how he treated you so shabbily and believed horrid things about you.” She set her plate on the tea tray. “If he’s seen the error of his ways, I might be persuaded to think better of him. Lord knows,” she said with a sideways smile at Isabelle, “he’s handsome enough to make up for most other shortcomings.”