It was all Isla could do not to press a hand to her stomach.
This washerhusband the young ladies discussed.
“What do you think, Lady Isla?” Miss Forsyth asked.
“Of . . . Captain Balfour?” Isla managed to croak.
“Yes.” Miss Crowley leaned forward. “I know your family is not friendly with the Balfours, but surely there is no harm in appreciating the fine figure of an attractive man?”
Isla opened her mouth, but struggled to form words. What was she to say?
Why, yes, I do find the captain decidedly alluring. His kisses rather melt one’s knees.
Or, perhaps . . .
I am not sure he would make the best of husbands, to be truthful. It’s been over seven years since our own wedding, and in that time, I don’t think we’ve spent above an hour in one another’s company.
But even as the thoughts tumbled through, she recalled Tavish on their wedding day. How they had stood before a retired doctor and his wife in Stonehaven and pledged their vows.
It always astonished Isla how easily she could recall that moment. The wide wonder in Tavish’s gray eyes. As if he could scarcely believe thatthis moment had finally—finally!—arrived. That they would be bound as one, never to be parted.
His hand had trembled in hers. Her tears had wet the tartan ribbon of their handfasting. He had kissed her afterward, a tender touching of lips. A promise of a world to come.
She still kept that strip of tartan, along with the written witness of their marriage vows, tucked in a box slid to the back of a drawer.
Perhaps, she would burn that ribbon . . . maybe on the day their divorce became final.
The silence stretched too long.
Miss Anne Forsyth pursed her lips at Miss Crowley. “You place Lady Isla in a most indelicate situation, Lydia. She cannot say anything lavish about Captain Balfour without betraying her family. Besides, we know Lady Isla’s interests lie elsewhere.” She aimed a pointed look at Lady Milmouth, implying Isla’s connection with Colonel Archer.
Isla willed herself not to blush.
Miss Crowley at least had the decency to appear abashed. “My apologies, Lady Isla.”
“There is no need for an apology.”
Silence descended.
“Lady Isla, may we ask you a question?” Miss Forsyth motioned to her sister and friend.
“Of course.”
“Do you consider it likely that your brother will speak a full sentence to any of us this week?”
Oh.
The abrupt change in topic had Isla sitting upright in her seat.
“Gray?”
All three young ladies nodded.
Miss Crowley tittered. “Your brother is so handsome and noble, Lady Isla, one scarcely notices his faint limp.”
Right.
The fact of Gray’s uneven legs was rather common knowledge. No one ever spoke of it directly, of course, but Isla overheard whispered conversations about both her brothers. People always voiced the same question: What dreadful sin had the previous Duke of Grayburn committedto so kindle the wrath of God? After all, two sons with a similar deformity must be a sign of divine displeasure.
