Page 15 of The Lover’s Eye

Giles ignored the blinking stares of his staff as he left, issuing the necessary orders to Finch.

The estate could run itself for a couple of days, should Miss Ridgeway accept his offer of help and wish him to stay.

Even the possibility made his body thrum with anxious energy, and by early afternoon, he was pulling away in a humble, hired gig.

Miles of open road gave him time to formulate a plan.

The two horses moved in time at a smooth, active trot, responding to the light touch of the ribbons.

Spring was dawning everywhere, a warm bite in the air as they traveled.

After months of seclusion, the change of scenery was welcome excellence, only made sweeter by the disguise the old vehicle offered.

Giles wanted anonymity, both for his sake and Isobel’s. There was no telling how she might react to his arrival, and if anyone saw the Trevelyan-crested coach parked in front of Ridgeway House, he would only complicate matters for her.

As for himself, he was mitigating the risk of further scandal around his name. He hoped it wasn’t a practice he would have to indulge in for the remainder of his life.

Giles stopped some ten miles shy of Kittwick, choosing to pass the night in a small coaching inn. For all his urgent, gnawing vitality, he could wait until morning.

There was something comforting about the narrow, foreign bed and the simple stew he ate for supper.

He had lived much of his life behind the lines of safety and monotony.

Months could pass where each day looked the same as the last, and then suddenly, it was as though he woke up to time, to the loss of it, the futility of the path he was choosing for himself. And that frightened him.

It took the renewal of that jarring fear to break Giles from his shell.

He would take a foray to London. Meet up with old acquaintances—for really, he couldn’t count them as honest friends—and smother a few weeks under the excess of experience.

Gaming hells. Stuffy ballroom dances with beautiful debutantes. Drunkenness. Sometimes a woman.

Even the broad recollection brought shame down on him like a whip.

The diversions into wildness had never made him feel better, but like a playactor, pretending to be who people thought he ought to be, which happened to be the furthest thing from himself.

It would take months of solitude at Cambo House for the repulsion of his actions to abate, and for the loneliness to return.

And so, the cycle continued.

The only disruption it had ever received was Aurelia. Giles wondered what it would have been like, being married to her. To have had her wild laughter resonating in his bedchamber and at his breakfast table, to find lone strands of satin blonde hair stuck to his possessions, his person.

Marriage was what his parents had wanted for him.

His mother had passed first, and his father had talked about Giles’s future with increasing frequency as his health declined.

They hadn’t wanted him to be alone, to live like he had been living.

And yet, none of the ladies Giles met ever captured his genuine interest.

It wasn’t until Aurelia entered his library, radiant and confident and unforgiving, offering to forge their mutual interests, that Giles had felt his dreams of companionship might be coming true.

He flipped over on the lumpy mattress with a sigh. God, what had he done in life that he could actually be proud of? So far from that, Giles was ashamed of himself. Ashamed of the role he had played in Aurelia’s demise. For being idle and useless to everyone around him.

He wanted to be good. He wanted to be needed. It had seemed like he could give both of those things to Aurelia, but neither of them was ever fool enough to think they wanted each other.

That’s what made tonight’s feeling so different. Giles was here, in Cumberland, because he desperately wanted to be here. It wasn’t about tickling his own pride; it was borne of a genuine concern for Isobel. A depth of feeling that smarted and ached to even look upon.

If he was fortunate enough to offer her marriage, it would be different this time. His heart would be in the bargain.

?

Giles’s boots scuffed as he mounted the stairs of Ridgeway House. Now that the moment was upon him, it felt like a daydream.

The stout country house possessed a broken-down air. Cracks laced the mortar joints, and the tall wooden doors were dry and stripped of varnish. It took several seconds for a footman to swing one of them open, his brows lifting with open curiosity when he saw Giles.

“Lord Trevelyan, here to see Lord Ridgeway.” He presented his calling card.

Under better circumstances, he would have left the card and come back tomorrow. That would have given Isobel time to prepare for his visit. But time was a commodity in short supply, if the letters she’d been sending to her sister were any indication.

The footman returned a minute later. “His lordship will see you now, sir.”

Outwardly, Giles maintained a calm air, but he was plagued by a sudden wash of uncertainty as he was shown into a long, dark study. An old man with ruffled white hair and a crooked cravat rose to greet him from behind the desk.

Giles bowed formally, swallowing the gigantic lump that had formed in his throat. “Giles, Lord Trevelyan. Pleasure to meet you, sir.”

The viscount ran a wary gaze from his feet to his scalp, and lingered on the latter. Giles broke into a light sweat. He felt like he was a lad again, petrified of how he would be received and judged.

“Yes, yes,” Lord Ridgeway said. “Pleasure to meet you.” He flapped his hand in the direction of the chair opposite his desk, and Giles took a seat, smoothing his hands down his front and begging himself to breathe like a normal man.

“I beg your pardon for the strangeness of my visit. Under different circumstances, I should like to have left my card—”

Another dismissive hand gesture. “Pray, that doesn’t concern me. What is the nature of your business?”

Straight to the point . Usually Giles would’ve appreciated that, but he was wound tight with apprehension. “I wish to call on your daughter, Miss Isobel.”

The declaration didn’t seem to surprise the old man.

He eased back into his seat and lifted a pair of silver-rimmed spectacles off the desk, tapping the tip of them against his teeth.

“I believe I owe you my gratitude for taking her in in that weather. Never would have sent her, had I known it was so rough.” Lord Ridgeway’s expression revealed nothing.

“Not sure my girl wanted me to hear of that bit, but her lady’s maid has got a loose tongue. ”

“It was no trouble, I assure you.”

The men stared at each other for a moment. “Very well,” Lord Ridgeway said with a sigh. “What are your intentions with regard to my daughter?”

There was an old clock somewhere in the room, and it beat a clattering tattoo that gnashed against Giles’s nerves.

He attempted a faint smile. “While I acknowledge the nature of our meeting was most unusual, I feel very fortunate to have become acquainted with your daughter. It would be an honor, if she welcomed my company. My courtship.”

God, he sounded like a stuffy old whitebeard. He just needed to reach her. To see her.

The old viscount continued tapping the arm of his spectacles against his teeth. “Did she not tell you she was promised to a local fellow?”

The muscles under Giles’s shoulder blades tightened into knots. “Lord Pemberton was of the understanding she had no formal attachments.”

“She has now.”

Giles wasn’t sure he trusted this man, or if he should even believe him. There was a cloud of secrecy about his eyes. “Is she betrothed, sir?”

Lord Ridgeway’s wrinkles shifted as he frowned.

“Her betrothal to Captain Sempill shall be announced at the Everly Ball in three weeks’ time.

I regret you exerted yourself in coming such a distance, Lord Trevelyan, but my family’s connection to that of the Sempills is of such long standing.

It is difficult to explain the particulars of our arrangement, but perhaps you will understand when I say that certain … expectations exist among us men.”

Among the men, perhaps, but there was no mention of Isobel’s feelings on the subject. Giles fidgeted in his seat. “Would you allow me to call on her today, sir, to offer my felicitations?”

The spectacles dropped with a thud. “I do not think that’s advisable.”

Giles could only stare and hope his tumult of feeling didn’t show through the noble facade.

What could he say? The viscount was intelligent enough.

He knew Giles’s only motivation could be affection.

That was the force that had driven him here, and the same one that made this rejection a scalding stab to the chest.

A servant’s footsteps came into the room and stopped short. “Oh—forgive me, my lord. I was not aware you had a caller.”

A slow, catlike smile curled Lord Ridgeway’s lips. “That’s all right. Bring it anyhow, will you?”

Giles stared straight ahead as the footman crossed the room and laid a rosewood jewelry box on the desk.

The viscount carefully opened the lid, nodding his approval.

“This was a gift to the late Lady Ridgeway,” he said, spinning the box around to face Giles.

“I only draw it out for exceedingly special occasions. I’ve had it cleaned, so that Isobel can wear it to the ball.

It’s a miniature of my own eye—you see?”

Oh, how Giles wished he hadn’t seen. It was uncanny, the resemblance this necklace bore to the one he knew. A halo of white stones surrounded a painted amber eye, delicate strokes of watercolor lending it frightening realism.

Lord Ridgeway was looking at him smugly, as though this well-timed interruption proved the strength of his argument. As if it made it more real that Isobel would be primped and jeweled and betrothed within days.

Unfortunately, it did. Aurelia had worn a similar piece to the Everly’s summer soirée just last year, on his arm, as his betrothed.

“I have just one question,” Giles said, tearing his gaze from the jewelry box and back to the viscount’s eyes. “What are Miss Isobel’s feelings on the matter?”

Lord Ridgeway clamped the box shut. “She has made her decision.”