He must be used to such censure, she thought to herself. That alone was enough reason to never let him set foot inside their home again.
“Ah, society and its tiresome gossip. One should never put too much stock in idle chatter in my opinion.”
“No, of course not. But there is something to be said for a man whose name appears in every whispered conversation. It suggests a certain pattern, don’t you think?” Isadora continued.
“Patterns can be broken,” he dismissed with a casual shrug of the shoulders.
“But in reality,” Isadora mused, “they so rarely are. It is better for one to proceed with caution.”
“I wasn’t aware that you were some kind of fortune teller,” he replied, irked. “Actually, your father mentioned something about you being meddlesome. I assume that this is what he meant.”
Isadora felt her anger rise again. Trust her father to speak ill of his own daughter to a man who was no more than a stranger.
“He warned you about me, then?” Isadora said, curtly. “Is that what you are trying to convey here?”
“It was not a warning.” His mouth curved into a smirk. “But he informed me beforehand, if you will. It is not a problem, though. I am quite used to dealing with nuisances.”
Theaudacity.In any other household, he would have been kicked out for calling the eldest daughter of the house anuisance, but Isadora suspected that George would have agreed with him, had he been here.
“Are you always this rude to the people whose house you are a guest at?” Isadora questioned him. If he was expecting a nuisance, then that was exactly what he was going to get.
“I am not used to being questioned like this.” He shot her a look, as if to dismiss her.
“Why?” she pressed on. “Are you worried that you will reveal something that we ought not to know?”
Hartenshire ignored her again, turning back to Penelope. “A woman of refinement, of grace and quiet obedience, is a rare thing these days.” He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping. “I find myself quite drawn to those who still know their place.”
Know their place.It felt like a thinly concealed warning, not inviting in the slightest.
“And where exactly would you say that place is, My Lord?” Isadora answered instead.
And yet again, Hartenshire did not even glance at her. “At her husband’s side, of course.”
“A woman’s place is where she chooses it to be, My Lord. Whether that be at her husband’s side, above him, or far, far away from him,” Isadora said firmly.
Irritation flashed his features again. Isadora was certain that he wanted nothing more than have her leave the conversation, but she was not going to give him that satisfaction.
“I would not expectyouto understand,” the Marquess replied. “But you are not the person I am referring to.”
Penelope and Isadora exchanged a look. As far as first impressions went, his could not have been worse.
George entered just then, sparing either of them from having to respond.
“Ah, Harry!” George greeted, jovially. As usual, he seemed to feel no remorse for being away for the better part of the meeting. “I trust my daughters are keeping you entertained?”
“Oh, most certainly, My Lord. Your Penelope is truly a delight,” Hartenshire grinned, pleased to have him there.
“She is, isn’t she?” George beamed.
Isadora wanted to be sick.
George took his seat, leaning forward as if Hartenshire were a dear friend rather than a suitor who had no business being here. He regarded Hartenshire with open approval.
“I must say, My Lord,” George began, “it’s been far too long since we last shared a drink. I recall our last evening at the club—if memory serves, you walked away from the table a rather happy man.”
“Ah, indeed, My Lord. Fortune favored me that night. Though, I daresay, a man must know when to press his luck and when to bend the game to his favor.”
“Spoken like a true strategist. This is what I’ve always appreciated about you. Always thinking ahead, always playing the game well,” George chuckled, shaking his head.
