Basil had. And as to the flattery, one could not even enjoy it for what it was, knowing that their eyes lingered more lovingly—good heavens!—upon her mother.
Thus, though she knew it was foolish, Isabella had wanted not simply to be kissed, but for someone to want to kiss her. She had wanted to know what it was like. Only now she could hardly recollect what it was like, so overset was she with anger and shame. She took a deep breath and forced herself to remember. His hand had touched her cheek, bringing her face closer to his...and then his lips, soft on her own. And then? What had she felt? She closed her eyes, trying to recapture that moment. But all she could remember was his overwhelming physical presence and her own warring sensations of fear...and curiosity. It was not quite what she'd expected from an embrace. She hadn't even felt that rush of warmth she'd experienced when Lucy hugged her. And not...that tingle of excitement when Lord Hartleigh sat down beside her.
For that was what she'd been contemplating when Basil had come upon her. Lord Hartleigh. Oh, worse and worse. Lord Hartleigh, who only tolerated her to indulge his ward. Had Isabella actually believed one cousin might substitute for the other? The idea drove her tears away.
"Isabella," she scolded her reflection, "you are perfectly absurd."
And with that heartening thought to cheer her, she dried her tears, changed her clothes, and went down to join her family.
Chapter Six
"Lord Hartleigh!" her aunt cried. "Taking you for a ride in his carriage? But that—"
"Is yet another one," Mama interjected, in an undertone.
It was at tea that Isabella had quietly announced her plans for the following day. Alicia had nearly knocked over the teapot in her excitement and had been about to bubble forth predictions concerning the earl's intentions when the viscountess's outraged response immediately subdued her.
"What is it that you are saying, Maria? You know one cannot understand you when you mumble."
"It was nothing, my dear sister. Arithmetic. Counting to myself."
"I cannot think why you should do figures when we are discussing this highly improper state of affairs."
The only indication of alarm Maria Latham gave at this pronouncement was a slight lifting of one eyebrow in disbelief. "I do not see what is so improper about Isabella being invited for a drive. You were not shocked when Mr. Porter invited her—and I am sure that high-perched contrivance of his cannot be safe."
Isabella attempted to step into the crossfire. "We are not taking a drive through the park, Aunt Charlotte," she began to explain.
"What, have you rejected him too, my love?"
Now this was very naughty of Mama indeed. Lady Belcomb had not at all objected to the penurious suitors who crowded her drawing room every day the family was "at home." It was a convenient means of separating the wheat from the chaff, since, with neither looks nor charm, the only attraction Isabella could boast was her fortune. Those who called were therefore not at all the sort whose attentions one would wish upon Veronica. But Lord Hartleigh was not of this ilk. What doubly provoked the viscountess was that the earl seemed somehow beholden to Isabella on account of that absurd business with the little orphan.
And now here was Maria implying—with that studied innocence of hers—that the Earl of Hartleigh had been reduced to a state which rendered him vulnerable to rejection, and by a tradesman's daughter! The idea filled the viscountess with rage and, consequently, turned her face purple. She relieved her feelings by venting some of her wrath on her daughter.
"Veronica, I do wish you'd stop that dreadful noise," Lady Belcomb commanded, scowling at her. Under her parent's glare, Veronica quickly stifled her giggles and bowed her head to stare into her cup. Alicia, subduing her own mirth, bent her head likewise and endeavoured to look serious.
"Please, Aunt," Isabella interjected. "It is all very easily
Thus, though she knew it was foolish, Isabella had wanted not simply to be kissed, but for someone to want to kiss her. She had wanted to know what it was like. Only now she could hardly recollect what it was like, so overset was she with anger and shame. She took a deep breath and forced herself to remember. His hand had touched her cheek, bringing her face closer to his...and then his lips, soft on her own. And then? What had she felt? She closed her eyes, trying to recapture that moment. But all she could remember was his overwhelming physical presence and her own warring sensations of fear...and curiosity. It was not quite what she'd expected from an embrace. She hadn't even felt that rush of warmth she'd experienced when Lucy hugged her. And not...that tingle of excitement when Lord Hartleigh sat down beside her.
For that was what she'd been contemplating when Basil had come upon her. Lord Hartleigh. Oh, worse and worse. Lord Hartleigh, who only tolerated her to indulge his ward. Had Isabella actually believed one cousin might substitute for the other? The idea drove her tears away.
"Isabella," she scolded her reflection, "you are perfectly absurd."
And with that heartening thought to cheer her, she dried her tears, changed her clothes, and went down to join her family.
Chapter Six
"Lord Hartleigh!" her aunt cried. "Taking you for a ride in his carriage? But that—"
"Is yet another one," Mama interjected, in an undertone.
It was at tea that Isabella had quietly announced her plans for the following day. Alicia had nearly knocked over the teapot in her excitement and had been about to bubble forth predictions concerning the earl's intentions when the viscountess's outraged response immediately subdued her.
"What is it that you are saying, Maria? You know one cannot understand you when you mumble."
"It was nothing, my dear sister. Arithmetic. Counting to myself."
"I cannot think why you should do figures when we are discussing this highly improper state of affairs."
The only indication of alarm Maria Latham gave at this pronouncement was a slight lifting of one eyebrow in disbelief. "I do not see what is so improper about Isabella being invited for a drive. You were not shocked when Mr. Porter invited her—and I am sure that high-perched contrivance of his cannot be safe."
Isabella attempted to step into the crossfire. "We are not taking a drive through the park, Aunt Charlotte," she began to explain.
"What, have you rejected him too, my love?"
Now this was very naughty of Mama indeed. Lady Belcomb had not at all objected to the penurious suitors who crowded her drawing room every day the family was "at home." It was a convenient means of separating the wheat from the chaff, since, with neither looks nor charm, the only attraction Isabella could boast was her fortune. Those who called were therefore not at all the sort whose attentions one would wish upon Veronica. But Lord Hartleigh was not of this ilk. What doubly provoked the viscountess was that the earl seemed somehow beholden to Isabella on account of that absurd business with the little orphan.
And now here was Maria implying—with that studied innocence of hers—that the Earl of Hartleigh had been reduced to a state which rendered him vulnerable to rejection, and by a tradesman's daughter! The idea filled the viscountess with rage and, consequently, turned her face purple. She relieved her feelings by venting some of her wrath on her daughter.
"Veronica, I do wish you'd stop that dreadful noise," Lady Belcomb commanded, scowling at her. Under her parent's glare, Veronica quickly stifled her giggles and bowed her head to stare into her cup. Alicia, subduing her own mirth, bent her head likewise and endeavoured to look serious.
"Please, Aunt," Isabella interjected. "It is all very easily
Similar Books
