“Ah.” Lord Milmouth’s head went back before his gaze shifted to Gray. “I see.”
Lady Milmouth glanced between the men, looking confused for a fraction of a second . . . and then realization sank in. She flushed a truly remarkable shade of scarlet.
Everyone in Polite Society knew of the enmity between Northcairn and Grayburn. But as Northcairn and his progeny rarely attendedtonevents—Gray had ensured they were hardly received anymore—their ill-fated meetings were not treacherous shoals that hostesses were called upon to navigate with any regularity.
By inviting members from two hostile families, Lady Milmouth had made a most colossal blunder.
“Oh! Oh, no!” Her ladyship fluttered a hand to her bosom. “I hadn’t the slightest idea . . . Edward merely invited his friends and didn’t mention their familial connections, you see . . . we rarely stand on ceremony when here at Kingswell House, so I didn’t think . . . and Edward’s friends had just arrived before you, so there hasn’t been a moment to ascertain . . .”
Poor Colonel Archer looked back and forth between everyone, his expression confused. Isla nearly sighed. His innocent soul likely couldn’t fathom the depth of hostility that existed between the Balfours and the Kinseys. Would he be similarly unruffled by her foolish marriage to one of his closest friends?
Oh, what a tangled web we weave . . .
Mr. Walter Scott had the right of things.
Isla feared she would be sick.
“Our rooms, if you please, Lady Milmouth.” Gray kept his eyes trained on Captain Balfour as he spoke. A warning if Isla had ever seen one.
Her ladyship spared one more glance for Captain Balfour and then squared her shoulders.
“Of course. You must wish to rest, Your Grace. Please follow me.”
Isla trailed her brother, gaze studiously avoiding Captain Balfour.
But she felt the burning press of his eyes regardless.
Lady Milmouth showedIsla and Gray to their rooms, apologizing on a loop, hands wringing in misery, tears brightening her eyes.
“I simply didn’t know. Oh dear, what a disaster! I am so desperately sorry for any distress this has caused you both. And here we were, so hopeful for a wonderful week!”
Her ladyship’s anxiety matched the jittery nervousness that had taken hold of Isla’s limbs.
Lord help her! What was she to do?
Perhaps Gray would insist they leave at daybreak. Or demand Captain Balfour be shown the door. Or goad Captain Balfour into a bout of fisticuffs over tea and scones and have him arrested for brawling.
Isla hardly knew which outcome she would prefer.
After changing her clothing and tidying her hair and sternly ordering her hands tostoptremblingthisinstant!, Isla knocked on Gray’s bedchamber door.
Gray’s valet answered, bowing her into the room. Like herself, her brother had already changed out of his traveling attire and was currently staring into a mirror, straightening the cuffs of a tight-fitting blue tailcoat.
Gray met her gaze in the reflection and then nodded at his valet to leave. The man closed the door quietly behind him. Gray gave his sleeves one final tug.
“We are not staying with Balfour in residence.” Trust her brother to get directly to the point. “I refuse to put you in his orbit.”
So.
They would be leaving.
The knot of dread beneath Isla’s breastbone did not loosen at the thought as she might have supposed.
Why?
The answer arrived immediately—
Leaving solved nothing.
