“Custom often prefers women ignorant,” Edward’s mouth twitched. “What did you wish to say?”
“Not here.” She glanced toward the house, the upper story visible through the branches “Will you walk with me? Hyde Park is near.”
“It is inadvisable,” Edward said. “You have no chaperone.”
“There are so many people abroad today that we would blend in like hay in a haystack,” Isla said. “I will not meekly go to my fate without having my say.”
She allowed her voice to rise and Edward glanced around at the governesses, promenading lords and ladies and gamboling children. None seemed to notice them.
This is madness. It invites scandal and is unnecessary. She will have no say in the terms. It is between her brother and myself.
But as he looked at Isla he realized how different she appeared under the sunshine compared to the half-light of the stable and the firelight of the bedroom. She looked radiant, as though absorbing energy from the sun. Her face seemed to glow. He found that he did not want to dismiss her, to turn his back and walk away. He could not.
“Very well. But we must be discrete,” he said and chided himself for the ludicrous surge of excitement that his decision brought him.
“I can be the sole of discretion when I choose,” Isla said with a smile that made Edward’s heart quicken.
Enough of this nonsense. A pretty woman is no reason to lose your head.
She tugged her bonnet down and led the way, heading towards the northern fringe of Hyde Park. Edward fell into step alongside her. They crossed into the green, the clamor of Oxford Streetfalling back behind them. Hyde Park lay in easy summer, the broad track along the Row flashed with riders and the water glittered in the Serpentine. The scent shifted to cut grass and horses.
Edward breathed deeply. Next to the tang of salt this was the finest air a man could sample. Natural. It eased the tension he realized he had been carrying in his shoulders. He noticed that Isla took the same breath and at the same time.
A woman who enjoys nature more than ballrooms? I already knew that from our meeting in a stable.
“You have been to my brother’s house,” she said. “You know the truth.”
“That Strathmore’s accounts are bloodless,” he said. “I have eyes.”
“I suppose I should be grateful your honor can be compelled by pity.”
“My honor,” he said, sharply, “attaches to my choices, not your bankbooks.”
That sent a color to her cheek.
“I strike when cornered. It is a bad habit.”
“Do I have you cornered?” Edward said, eyes roaming the myriad faces for any that showed signs of recognition or notice. “My recollection of the last few minutes is that you dragged me here against my better judgment.”
“Who is to say it is better?”
“It generally is.”
“How very modest.”
Edward took another deep breath, this one sharper and intended to keep something inside. His anger. He did not care for the tone of rebellious insolence that Isla seemed to adopt after a few civil sentences.
I do not care for ill discipline or lack of order. She seems to represent both.
He let the quiet hold a moment.
“You wished to discuss terms,” he said, finally.
She nodded. “Two only. First, I will not be used as a public ornament to placate your mother’s prejudice. If this marriage is to exist, I require the right to shape a place within it that is not confined to tea tables and charitable ribbons.”
She flicked a look at the stream of riders. “I know horses. I know bloodlines. I can read a ledger and tie a foal’s bandage without fainting.” Her chin raised, the old dare kindling. “Let me work. With your steward if you like, or alone if he will not have me.”
The request struck him in a surprising place, the wary corner of himself that preferred competence to gratitude. “And the second?”
