Adam nodded. “That, I do. And I happen to like you and admire you, and I would like to chat with you about something other than logs or bees.”
“Friends could chat about more than logs and bees any time they wished.”
“Friends could. And I think we are becoming friends. Do friends contemplate kisses and sex and marriage and children?”
Her already-pink cheeks darkened further. “Do you contemplate those things?”
“Yes. Don’t you?”
Perhaps he didn’t merit her. Without taking into account personality or morality or…humanity, the viscount did have more to offer. Money, for example. And a title. But even if Adam didn’t feel drawn to her, he couldn’t in good conscience leave her without at least a fair warning – even if he couldn’t go into specifics.
“I like you, Isabel. A great deal. At the least, you could use me as a base of comparison against Alton, or vice versa.”
“But you nearly resigned just two days ago because you kissed me.”
“I nearly resigned because I didn’t ask your permission first. I’m asking now. You’ve granted Alton a luncheon; I’m not asking for any more than an equal opportunity.”
“I’m beginning to feel like a chess piece.”
He tilted his head. “I’m not playing games.”
Isabel shifted her stance, likely trying to find her figurative footing. “The opportunity isn’t precisely equal, though; I talk to you all the time. We have spent far more time together than Alton and I have.”
He moved a breath closer. It was ironic that her spending more time with Alton would likely work in Adam’s favor, but he didn’t like the idea of it, anyway. Alton could be notoriously charming, and given the wealth of Nimway Hall, the viscount would have every reason to say all the things Isabel no doubt longed to hear. Therefore, if this was a game, he needed to play to win. “Is that a yes, or a no, to luncheon on Thursday?” he murmured.
“I…”
“Unless your orb has already selected Alton for you,” he pushed, then realized he shouldn’t have taken the magic-versus-fact tack. “I mean to say,” he went on, silently cursing himself for being as stubborn about logic as she was about fantasy, “you either want to have luncheon with me, or you don’t.” And if she didn’t, the four months he’d promised to remain at Nimway Hall would become a damned, torturous eternity.
Her sweet lips pursed, then curved into a slow smile he instantly memorized. “Then I suppose we shall have luncheon on Thursday,” she breathed.
Behind them the lamps in the room flickered, sending soft candlelight playing along her face. Kisses and warm, long nights, children, laughter – it all felt so close he could nearly reach out and touch it, take hold of it, and claim it for himself. Claim her for himself.
Slowly he reached out and took her hand in his free one, setting aside his whisky with the other. He’d promised her that she needn’t worry over him while they were out conducting the Hall’s business. Perhaps he wasn’t being completely fair now, but they weren’t out anywhere alone, and this bloody well wasn’t business.
When he drew her closer she didn’t resist, and in fact lowered her gaze to his mouth. Adam felt like a coachman trying to rein in a quartet of very spirited horses, but he hauled back against lust, against jealousy over Alton, against the desire to tell her what her moonstone orb couldn’t, because it was nothing but a damned polished rock – that the two of them belonged together.
Instead he touched his lips to hers, feeling her momentary uncertainty then the pure headiness of her kissing him back. He put both hands around her waist, moving in closer while her arms slid over his shoulders. This, this moment, felt like the unnamed thing he’d been missing from his life. An open circle, completed.
Behind them the door bumped open. “Shoo, you wicked thing!” Jane Davies stated, even as Isabel lurched backward out of his arms. “I am not apologizing for being late. That blasted cat dragged one of my shoes under my bed, then wouldn’t let me down a single stair without trying to twist under my feet. I think she might be trying to murder me.”
Adam sent the gray cat a grateful look as she jumped onto the back of the couch. Green eyes gazed back at him, unblinking. Evidently he owed Mist a bowl of fish stew for delaying the lady’s companion. “You weren’t injured, I hope,” he said aloud, stepping forward as Isabel ducked behind him.
He could understand her wanting to keep the kiss a secret; she still had Alton on her fishing line, after all. He didn’t like it, but he understood it. The viscount was a viscount, after all, with several estates of his own, a darling of the ton, and her way to become part of the social elite – if that was her goal. All Adam had to offer was his knowledge. Still, she’d used him as a shield while she composed herself, so hopefully she considered that they were partners of a sort.
“No, I’m not injured, but you need to put a bell on that little demon, Isabel.”
“I’ve been meaning to,” Isabel returned, smoothing her pretty gown as she stepped back into view. “I’ll see to it tomorrow.”
The glass of whisky bumped against his hand, and he closed his fingers around it. “I recall some small bells in the attic. They were attached to a rather spectacular lady’s hat, I believe. One of them might suit. I’ll fetch one in the morning.”
“Thank you,” Isabel said, more feelingly than seemed strictly necessary.
If she was thanking him for the kiss, she was quite welcome. “Well, we can’t have Mist sneaking up on people,” he said aloud, as Simmons opened the far door to announce dinner.
Mrs. Dall’s cooking had improved since Isabel’s arrival, and he didn’t think it was solely because there was once again a lady of the house to decide on the menu. Everything about Nimway had improved since Isabel’s arrival, but he wasn’t about to put that to magic, either. The lamps shone brighter and the windows let in more light, but no doubt that was because the maids now had a reason to clean them more carefully. Likewise the fireplaces smoked less, and the chandeliers gleamed and sparkled.
His growing frustration with problems that wouldn’t be repaired had vanished as well, now that the bees were gone from the spare room, the millstone mended, the roof leaking over the east wing patched, and the front of the garden cleared – and without incident – for the new orangery.
“I hope you don’t mean to drive into Balesborough alone,” Jane said, over a generous helping of roasted venison and onion sauce. “I know this isn’t London, but it’s still not seemly.”
“I won’t be driving myself,” Isabel replied. “And Lord Alton selected a popular dining establishment. Nothing unseemly will occur. There’s no need for you to stand at attention over my shoulder.”
“You should still have someone else with you.”
Isabel set down her fork. “Jane, this is my land. Mine. I am the hand that will guide it. I don’t want to give the impression that I’m so frail and delicate I need to be escorted everywhere.”
Jane clucked her tongue and looked over at Adam. “What do you think, Mr. Driscoll?”
He’d already spent twenty minutes trying to be invisible, because he’d recognized this trap from a mile away. “I think that Isabel traveled from Italy to Somerset with only you as her companion, and that you adore her and worry over her. And I think Isabel knows her own mind and capabilities.”
With a laugh that sounded a bit sharp, Isabel picked up her glass of Madeira and toasted him. She’d already emptied the thing twice, though he wasn’t certain whether that was because of the conversation or his earlier kiss. “You are a true diplomat, Adam.”
That didn’t much feel like a compliment, considering he was an inch away from deciding to follow her into Balesborough so he could lurk in the rafters of the Two-Headed Dragon while she dined. “Actually, I’m merely aware that you have more allies in the village than does Alton, should anything untoward happen.”
“Thank goodness for that,” Miss Davies said. “I told you everyone here would love you, Isa
bel.”
Isabel, though, sent him an assessing look. “And what will you be doing tomorrow, Adam?”
“I’ll be looking in on several farms to see how the rye and wheat crops are coming along,” he decided, since it wouldn’t put him at any one place at any particular time.
“Please report to me what you see.”
He nodded. “I shall.” Unless he happened to wander in the direction of Balesborough and saw a chance to disrupt a luncheon, that was.
The drive to Balesborough took a bit longer than usual despite the fine weather and the fresh pair of horses; the sheep that insisted on milling about on the road seemed at least as pleased by the day as she was. Isabel didn’t begrudge the time away from learning her duties. Rather, it struck her that she could ride for an hour, past Balesborough and past East Pennard and past West Pennard, before she came to the end of her property. Remarkable. And intimidating.
Scattered farms, patches of wood, streams, meadows, hills, and flatlands, wild and cultivated – she felt all over again the immensity of the task she’d taken on, and gratitude to her grandmother for hiring Adam Driscoll to help her learn how to manage all of it.
Surreptitiously she ran a finger across her lips, feigning a cough when Billy the groom glanced over at her. All the previous night she’d been plagued by fitful dreams of floating orbs shining with the faces of every man she’d ever met, including the old, toothless donkey herder back in Florence. Everyone had been yelling at her to choose them, until they all turned into bees and flew into her wardrobe. She’d fled outside, only to have the moon turn into a giant orb and chase her over the edge of the escarpment. She’d awakened falling out of bed.
Of course she knew what the blasted dream meant, even if Antonio the donkey man had never been an actual contender for her hand. Adam, though, had spoken the word marriage, and he’d kissed her in a way that had made her drink too much Madeira with dinner – which had probably caused the nightmares.
She’d been away from her home and her family for less than two months, and in that time she’d sailed through the Mediterranean and the English Channel to Dover, she’d taken possession of the papers that granted her ownership and, less officially, guardianship, of a large estate, and she’d landed directly between two men who both claimed to want her. And each had warned her about the other, even if Geoffrey’s vitriol over Adam had consisted more of the “wades about in mud” and “wouldn’t know a quadrille from a gallop” sort of commentary.
Those thoughts blew away on the wind as they emerged from a pretty stand of elm and beech trees to see the small village in the shallow valley before them. She’d loved the sight from the first moment Adam had led her here, and for an odd moment she wished it were Adam driving the curricle today so she could chat with him about why everyone seemed to have decided to visit the village today. The delightful scent of fresh bread coming from the direction of the bakery would have convinced her to stop in, but goodness it was crowded.
Isabel took a breath. Today was for luncheon with Lord Alton. For heaven’s sake, with Adam’s annoying lack of imagination he could well be planning to bring her back to this very same location for his luncheon with her tomorrow. Her heart fluttered a little. Luncheon tomorrow wouldn’t be about tenants and their trades or why the main road through the village looked as busy as a London street. Though what in the world she and Adam would chat about if it wasn’t Nimway Hall, she had no idea.
He might speak of marriage, but nothing had occurred to make him more suitable. For heaven’s sake, when he’d kissed her yesterday, she’d kissed him back. Her steward. Proper females did not entertain romances with their employees. By that misstep alone she’d proven how much she needed a husband who knew the nuances of Society, who could keep her ignorance secret both from their peers and her own tenants.
“There it is, Miss Isabel,” Billy the driver said, lifting a hand from the leads to point at a two-story, many-windowed building perched between a bakery and a clothing shop. A small sign over one window featured a winged, rearing green dragon boasting two heads, both of them breathing orange fire.
A man in a very stylish blue beaver hat and dark-brown caped greatcoat leaned against the wall beside the door, and he stood upright as Billy drew the team to a halt. Sweeping off the hat to expose trim golden hair, he gave an elegant bow before straightening to offer her a hand.
“You are a vision, Isabel,” Geoffrey said, smiling deeply. “Fit for the finest tea house in London.”
“I’ll take my luncheon at the bakery, Miss Isabel,” Billy said from behind her. “The curricle will be just there up the street, in view.”
She wondered briefly if Adam had made those arrangements, and had told the groom to remain nearby. “Thank you, Billy.” Giving her hand to the viscount, she stepped down onto the brace before the near wheel and then down to the ground. At least Geoffrey hadn’t grabbed her around the waist and lifted her down as if she were a bale of hay. “And thank you, Geoffrey.”
“It is my absolute pleasure.” He offered his arm, and she wrapped her fingers around his sleeve as they walked through a small flock of chickens and up to the old inn. A man in crisp red livery that wouldn’t have been out of place in the royal court of a hundred or so years ago opened the door as they reached it, then with much bowing led them to a small table at the front of the well-lit room.
Geoffrey held her chair for her, and she sat directly beside one of the large windows that looked onto the street. From there she would be able to view anything that passed, and everyone outside would see her and in whose company she dined. If the viscount had arranged this, and she assumed he had, it was quite a public statement about the two of them.
Of course if news spread as quickly as it generally seemed to do here on her property, by the end of the meal everyone would know that she’d come to visit and with whom she’d sat, anyway. Perhaps there was no strategy to the luncheon at all, then, and all titled gentlemen who came to dine got to sit beneath the most public window of the Two-Headed Dragon.
From the looks and whispered commentary of the rest of the diners in the crowded room, she’d been correct about the village’s reaction to her arrival. Anonymity was out of the question. She was therefore glad she’d decided to wear her prettiest muslin gown, a yellow- and green- and blue-flowered print with ruffled sleeves suited for both driving and for dining at a clearly well-to-do establishment.
Geoffrey seated himself opposite her after he handed off his hat, gloves, and coat to the red-liveried man. “A bottle of your finest and fruitiest red wine,” he said.
The waiter bowed. “At once, my lord.”
Once the man vanished, Geoffrey sat forward. “What do you think? Fairly impressive for the middle of Somerset.”
“It’s lovely. All the windows must cost them a small fortune.”
“And it’s horrifically cold in the winter. But it is the place in Balesborough to be seen.” Reaching across the table, he touched her fingers. “Speaking of which, I’ve very nearly decided to hold a soiree at Blackbridge next month. Agree to come as my guest of honor, and I’ll invite half the good ton to meet you. Most of them will have emptied out of London by then, anyway.” He smiled again. “The exotic daughter of a famed Italian sculptor. You’ll be the belle of the ball.”
She’d dreamed of being the center of attention at a proper London ball since she’d turned eight and spent six months wearing a tiara made of glass stones and wire. But being viewed as an outsider, exotic or not, gave her the shakes. “That sounds lovely, but please don’t go to all that bother on my account.”
“Nonsense. In my company, you’ll do splendidly. And who knows, we may even have something to announce there.”
Engagement. He expected to use the ball to announce their engagement. Evidently he had everything planned out. Heavens, if she’d agreed to go to luncheon with him a week ago, they might have been betrothed already. Isabel blinked, forcing her thoughts back into order and unsure whether her e
levated heartbeat was caused by anticipation or nerves.
Before she could figure it out the waiter reappeared with the wine. Geoffrey smelled the cork then tasted a mouthful, after which he permitted the man to pour them each a glass. Isabel watched it all, but if asked to recount it later she doubted she would be able to do so. The viscount seemed calm enough, but then he’d clearly put a great deal of thought into the merging path of their lives.
“’Something to announce’?” she repeated belatedly, as the waiter departed again. “That’s rather bold of you, Geoffrey, considering we’ve only set eyes on each other thrice now.”
Geoffrey sighed. “Have I erred again? When I see something and I know the likely outcome, pretending otherwise becomes rather counterproductive and needlessly tedious, don’t you think?”
“What is it you know, then? Perhaps I’m simply obtuse.”
The viscount chuckled. “Given your appearance and the timber rights and land you hold, my dear, you could have worse conversation than a rock and still be sought-after.” He took a sip of wine. “Thankfully you’re charming, and while I could spend days and weeks flattering you and bringing you poems and posies, you also already know your value. And you know we make a good match.”
Isabel took a swallow of the too-sweet wine and nearly choked on it. Everything he said made sense, but it didn’t…feel…particularly special. It didn’t feel like the way a marriage for a guardian of Nimway Hall should happen. “I don’t require flattery, of course,” she returned, smiling back at him so he wouldn’t realize that a few decisive words from him had left her completely flummoxed. “I do require at least a kernel of mutual affection, however.” She’d nearly said “romance”, but in light of his confidence that sounded somewhat naïve.
“Oh, affection galore,” he stated. “I adore you already, of course.” He glanced out the window as if something had caught his attention, then looked back at her. “Thank you for reminding me that even if something is a foregone conclusion, it shouldn’t be taken for granted. It’s not every day, after all, that a gentleman meets a descendant of Merlin himself. I pray you, don’t turn me into a frog, dear Isabel.”
THE LEGEND OF NIMWAY HALL: 1818 - ISABEL Page 13
