“Didn’t you just call love a poison?”
Another unruffled chuckle. “One woman’s poison is another woman’s cure.”
Isabel glanced over and spied a rather vulpine smile curling about Miss Fox’s mouth. The woman was impossible to catch out. “You have quite a lively mind, Miss Fox. How do you occupy it? I can’t imagine you lolling about a drawing room all day.”
“Your opinion of noble ladies is so high as that, my lady?” Miss Fox was most definitely toying with her. “If you must know, a few years ago my father won a small press in a card game. I’ve taken an interest in its various publications. Recently, we added a scientific journal to its number.”
“You run the press yourself?”
“Can you imagine Cheswick taking an interest in the written word?”
“I’ve only just met him.”
“You’ve learned everything you need to know about my father, you can take my word for it. Outré sense of humor. Life of every party. Beloved by all, with the exception of his creditors.” She spoke that last horrible truth lightly, but it was a forced levity. “However, let us not stray from our original subject. I find it infinitely more interesting than needlework and endless rounds of social calls. You and I know what Society doesn’t. A woman needs to keep herself industriously occupied, even gainfully, if possible.”
The fine hairs on Isabel’s neck lifted on end. “Youand Iknow this?”
“I refer to your shop, of course.Galante: Dressmakers Extraordinaire. Quite a grand name, if I may say.”
“My sister chose it.”
“Well, you and your sister are building quite a reputation for quality, fashionable clothes for women of the middling classes.”
“I wouldn’t go that far. We’ve had our challenges this year.” Challenges she wouldn’t be sharing with this woman.
“No need to be so modest, Lady Percival, your renown is growing.”
Miss Fox was most definitely hunting Isabel, for there was no possibility of her knowing this information without having sought it out prior to today. She sensed Montfort’s hand in this.
“Of course,” continued Miss Fox, “I can’t imagine Lord Percival falling madly in love with just any filly enough to elope with her, no matter how fine.”
That last bit was a joke, a riff on Cheswick’s words, but Isabel couldn’t quite summon a laugh. It was very possible that Miss Fox and her curious mind would reach the correct conclusion about Isabel and Lord Percival’s ruse.
And then what?
It was too horrible to contemplate.
“No, Lord Percival wouldn’t want a wife who depended on him solely for her happiness and fulfillment. I believe he’s been down that road. Didn’t suit him, or the wife, I dare say.” Miss Fox flicked her wrist as if the conversation was of little consequence. “I digress. My theory is that your Spanish-ness is what tipped infatuation into madness.” From Miss Fox’s lips, it didn’t sound like a compliment.
“You’re referring to his time in Spain during the war, I suppose?”
“And the ten years after that.”
Isabel’s brow furrowed, and she glanced over to find Miss Fox studying her reaction.
“It hasn’t been a year since Lord Percival returned to England. You didn’t know?” Miss Fox asked.
“He was in Spain all that time?”
“I rather suspect he was all over the Continent.”
Isabel exhaled a frustrated huff. Why wouldn’t Miss Fox simply speak a straightforward answer? “Doing what?”
“Hasn’t he told you? Oh, this is rich.”
Miss Fox’s mouth curled into the sort of smile that said it was about to divulge a delicious secret. Isabel braced herself.
“Why, being a spy, of course.”
