“As do I.”
Isla smiled and said nothing. Edward bit back his anger. Seeing Alistair celebrating was galling. It reinforced his sense of being manipulated. It did not help that he was looking forward to being alone with Isla. Lady Charlotte came forward as Edward prepared to help Isla into the carriage.
“I wish you joy, Edward,” she said.
He saw her eyes cut to Isla’s mouth and return sharpened, as if the evidence of the kiss had carved a private grievance. He understood then that Charlotte would not simply retreat, she would circle like a shark, waiting her opportunity to dart in and turn the water red. The knowledge did not frighten him. It irritated him like grit in a boot.
Isla stood in the carriage that would carry her and her husband around the grounds of Ravenscroft before returning them to the house for the wedding breakfast. Bells from the larger parish church took up a distant peal, as if gossip had found an organ.
Children darted across the grass to collect fallen petals. One solemn boy offered her a collection of rose petals, cupped as though they were the most precious things in the world. Herhand trembled when she took it, and she steadied it with the other in a gesture no one but Edward seemed to notice.
Isla turned her back, hefted the bouquet and hurled it back over her head. Edward watched it tumble through the blue sky. A pair of hands waited but at the last moment were supplanted with another. Lady Charlotte had stepped slightly in front of Lady Victoria without appearing to be chasing victory.
She even had the grace to look surprised when the bouquet bounced from her bosom. Not so surprised that she didn’t grab it with both hands. Before looking at Edward from beneath lowered lashes. Lady Victoria straightened her spectacles and then resumed her happy smile, clapping at Lady Charlotte’s good fortune.
Edward looked away from her. Isla had taken a seat, looking up at Edward. He took his place beside her and did not speak at once. Neither did she. It was absurd that two people who had just kissed before half their acquaintance should find silence the decent language, and yet there it was, patient and almost companionable.
At last Isla said, without looking at him, “You kissed me as if you meant it.”
“Should we not compliment the weather?” Edward said with irritation, “or the way the vicar conducted the service?
“You would prefer me to be empty headed?”
“Yes.”
“I do not believe it. And refuse,” Isla said, stubbornly.
“Then do so if it makes your life more interesting. A Duchess is not as glamorous a profession as you would think.”
Edward had thought about what would be expected from a young Duchess. A lot of work running a house the size of Ravenscroft that was for certain. He had planned how to keep Isla busy for as long as their marriage lasted. For as long as the gossip lasted.
“Well?” Isla asked.
“I did,” he said, and because honesty had saved his life more than once, “I do not know what I mean yet. But I meant that.”
Her mouth curved, then steadied as though she were remembering herself.
“Then we are even. I did not intend to answer and found I could not help it.”
We could both help it. We could both have prevented it. I should have been stronger.
Dappled shadows painted Isla’s face, sunlight and shade passing rapidly over her. Edward studied her face, enjoying its apparent perfection, a perfection that was made more perfect precisely because it was not. The carriage slowed at the gates of Ravenscroft House.
The private door stood open. He offered his hand again for her to disembark. She took it. They stepped down together into a future that felt less like convenience and more like weather. Something to be read carefully and faced with the right coat.
As they crossed the threshold, he allowed himself one glance at her profile. The line of it was stubborn, the mouth ungovernable and the eyes bright with something that might have been fear.
But then it might be the same emotion masked that her brother shows openly.
His suspicion did not vanish, that would have been stupidity, but it withdrew enough to let another feeling stand in the doorway. He did not name it. Not yet. He would hold his heading and see what the sea made of them.
Chapter 9
The breakfast room rang like silver bells. Glass chimed and laughter tinkled. The orchestra in the adjoining salon kept its cheerfulness at a conversational murmur. Ravenscroft Hall, opened fully for the first time since his father’s funeral, wore its mood of celebration with military neatness. Flowers massed along the mantel, white and green. Footmen moved in lines precise as drill. It had been arranged as if victory could be staged.
Edward moved through it with Isla at his side. He found the performance easy. The habit of command made him a passable groom.
“Lady Grey,” he said, presenting his wife to an influential matron who was an infamous gossip, “may I make you known to Her Grace the Duchess of Wexford.”
