Page 24 of The Lover’s Eye

Pemberton produced a letter from his breast pocket, the severed seal flapping in the breeze by the open doors.

Marriane snatched it, her dark eyes flitting across the page.

Giles spied over her shoulder, willing his eyes to make sense of the words.

He picked up just enough to know it was bloody awful.

You are aware her beauty is not a match to yours, or perhaps I could make an exception … I recall you telling me she is a bit of a hoyden … heard plainly that she is on very intimate terms with a Captain Sempill … if word spreads, she may not be suitable as a governess, either …

Giles felt his body giving in to anger as plainly as if he’d burned his flesh. Had the Sempills divined Isobel’s plan for a Season, and spread the rumor she was compromised to prevent it? It was an unconscionable act of cruelty. Something only a desperate, heartless person would do.

But it seemed the Sempills were desperate.

“I recall leaving it by my plate, but when I went to retrieve it, it had migrated to the entry table,” Pemberton said, his lips thinning in disapproval.

“Can I not take breakfast on a tray for even one morning?” Marriane asked. Her tone had risen to infuriated heights. “Excuse me, Lord Trevelyan, while I go find my sister. It seems everyone sees fit to read my correspondence before me . ”

Marriane stalked up the stairs.

“Who the hell wrote that?” Giles asked quietly, afraid he already knew the answer.

Pemberton’s face was stoically neutral. “Lady Hambly. Better known as the second and final rejection for a sponsor.”

Before Giles could answer, their attention turned to the landing overhead, where Marriane had returned. “She’s not in her chambers or the drawing room.”

“I’ll check the garden.” The words were out of Giles’s mouth without a moment’s deliberation.

“And I the stables,” Pemberton said, heading down the hall.

Giles jogged down the worn depressions in the steps, his boots a repeating scrape against the aged stone. The hedged boundary of the garden was within his sight already, and he took ground-eating strides toward the salt-rusted gate.

Isobel had to be devastated. Not only was the letter currishly worded, she had to feel trapped, like the marriage banns had just been read for her and Elias Sempill.

Giles struggled with the gate, muttering an oath as he induced it to open with a piercing creak.

Most of the Italian garden was open to him, and he did not see her.

A few early blooms added color to the space, but the overwhelming impression was evergreen, an array of geometric patterns lettered out in short hedges.

Giles headed along the length of the garden, his gaze drawn to a more sequestered area of thick shrubs and a central fountain, which stood dry and without voice. His steps crunched against the gravel, stopping when he saw her.

Isobel sat on a wrought iron bench, her posture submitting to its shape, her delicate fingers clasped in her lap. Tears left her cheeks damp and shimmery beneath the sun’s illumination, flushed with the rise of her blood.

“Miss Ridgeway,” he called. His voice was softer than he’d intended, but she heard him. She gave him a fleeting glance before smoothing her cheeks with her palms. “May I join you?”

She inhaled shakily. “You may.”

Smoothing his coat in an act of habitual nervousness, Giles took a seat beside her.

The bench was narrow, and his knee bristled against her leg.

“I am sorry to hear of your troubles finding a sponsor,” he said, his eyes lingering over her hands.

He had the overwhelming desire to offer her a comforting touch, but resisted.

“I will find another course of action. I must,” Isobel said, her wavering voice taking on strength. “If no decent man will offer for me, and no one will hire me as a governess, I shall—shall—”

Her hands were shaking in her lap, and the tremors travelled to her lower lip. Her eyes welled with tears. “Oh, God,” she said quietly. “I don’t know what to do.”

Giles could not stand it another second. Her pain seemed to be his pain, too; an agony that was raw and terrifying and unjust. He edged closer to her, putting a single gloved finger under her chin and tipping it toward him. “Allow me to help you. Please.”

Isobel stared at him, her slate eyes rimmed with redness.

“If marrying a man your father disapproves of doesn’t trouble you, marry me. And if that is disagreeable to you, well, then tell me what you would like. I’ll do anything, Isobel.”

Giles thought saying those words would be a Herculean effort, perhaps one of the hardest things he would do in all his life. But she lent him her strength. Her sweet, grey eyes studied him, and the weight of her chin was soft in his hand.

She spoke with unexpected calm. “You’ve never even met my father.”

“I have,” he said, the words choked by his heart, which was now throbbing in his throat.

Confusion flickered in her eyes, her brows creeping together. “In winter you told me you had never made his acquaintance.”

“That was the truth. I met your father five weeks after I met you.”

Isobel turned fully toward him now, and her skirts bunched against Giles’s thigh. “I’m afraid I don’t understand. My father rarely leaves the estate, I do not see how—”

“ I went to him .”

The words, sparse and insufficient as they were, sounded like an omission. The beginning of all he wanted to say.

Isobel drew small, quick breaths, and when she spoke, her voice broke. “Why?”

“I asked his permission,” Giles said, pausing to moisten his lips, “to court you. He led me to believe you were happily promised to another. He wouldn’t even allow me to call on you.”

“I cannot believe it.”

“Cannot believe I asked to court you, or that your father refused me?”

She squeezed her eyes shut and gave a little shake. “Both!”

Giles eased a hand toward her, his movements slow and without demand, resting it palm up on the hilly border where his leg met hers.

Isobel’s breath froze, and then started anew with fresh force.

She placed her hand in his, the length of her fingers resting small against his own.

Even that small acceptance of him was like hope personified, making his chest soar.

“I never knew,” she said in a small voice, looking up at him. “I never knew you came. I thought …” She swallowed. “Never mind what I thought. If he was that cross with you, he would not even provide you my dowry, perhaps not even the estate—”

Giles turned deeper into her and reached for her other hand, until he was clasping both with gentle, deliberate pressure. “I have no need for any of your fortune. Truly. This choice, it is all your own.”

“We would not even have time for a proper courtship, to get acquainted with each other. They expect me back in a fortnight, you see. I had planned to leave for London before then.”

“I have to be honest with you, Miss Ridgeway. It is my greatest hope that you want to marry me. That you are even half so fascinated by me as I am by you.” Giles paused for breath.

“But if marriage is not what you want, I was serious, when I said I would do anything. If you accept my help, I’ll make sure of it that no one forces you into a life you don’t desire. ”

He could see the tumult of thoughts behind her eyes, bewilderment besieging hurt. He might have been calm up until now, but that was over with—blood rushed through his veins, whooshing in his ears. His mind was frantic with thoughts, so overwhelmed that it was nearly rendered blank.

“I think I see,” she said at length.

“Yes?” Giles barely got the word out.

“They … say things about you. And now they will be spreading gossip about me, too. You’re offering a marriage of convenience, to stop the rumors?”

He felt like the ground had been taken out from under him. What horrid things had she heard about him? Clearly tales so vile she thought he would be willing to marry to escape them. As if anything could silence a rumor once started.

But more than that—oh, so much more—were those three damnable little words. No . He did not want a convenient anything. He opened his mouth to speak, but the rusty gate groaned and slammed nearby.

Giles withdrew his hands and smoothed them absently over his coat front. He gave Isobel a terse smile just before Pemberton rounded the corner.

“There you are! It bodes well to let someone know when you’ve found the missing sister, Trev.”