The question coiled in her mind like smoke. The only way to know was to get to London, confront her brother, and follow the trail from there into whatever burned rooms, or burned reputations, waited. She set her jaw, urged her horse on, and refused to let herself look back.
Chapter 14
The news travelled faster than orders. By the time Edward had given instructions for the carriage to be readied, sent word to Mrs. Hargrave to have a trunk packed for Isla, and spoken of which papers would follow him to London, his mother knew. Of course she knew. Wexford Hall itself seemed to report to her.
She waited for him in the great hall, black silk a sharp stroke against the pale stone, jet beads catching the late-afternoon light. The sound of the servants preparing for departure echoed behind them.
“You are leaving,” Lady Eleanor said. She did not make it a question.
“For London,” Edward replied. “Portman Square.”
“At your wife’s insistence.”
“At my decision,” he corrected.
Her nostrils flared. “Strathmore’s roof burns in Perthshire and suddenly my son forgets he has obligations in Hampshire.”
“The estate will not collapse in my absence,” he said. “I have left instructions.”
“You have tenants to see to. Accounts to balance. A hundred matters that cannot be addressed from a carriage.” Her eyes sharpened. “And yet you throw your plans aside to go chasing after your wife’s family dramas.”
“Her family’s seat has burned,” he said. “That is more than drama.”
“Old houses burn.” The words came too quickly, too coolly. “People rebuild. Or they do not. Either way, it is not your concern.”
“It is my concern,” he said, “while my signature stands on the marriage register.”
“You take this arrangement too seriously,” the Dowager said. “We both know what it is. An expedient. A patch. You do not owe that girl your life.”
“I owe her what honor requires,” Edward said. “And more than that, I owe myself. I do not leave a woman to face this alone.”
His mother’s mouth thinned. “You would not have said that last year.”
Perhaps not. But last year I had not found a wild hellion in my stables. I had not been required to carry her to safety.
“Last year I had not carried her through a ballroom,” he said. “Last week I vowed before God to share her burdens.” He held her gaze level. “I will not break my word because the smoke rises from a house farther north than you prefer to look.”
Color touched her cheekbones. “You let sentiment rule you. Again. It will ruin you. It ruined your father.”
“My father had no sentiment,” Edward shot back, harsher than he intended.”
“He did not,” the Dowager agreed, “I was speaking of you. Indulging your emotions and running away to sea …”
Edward held up a hand. He glared at his mother.
“Do not speak it. Do not say what I think you are about to say.”
Behind them the rustle of skirts. Isla was coming down the stair with Mrs. Hargrave in tow and Edith Godwin staggering along behind under the weight of a hatbox. Isla wore a dark travelling cloak over a simple gown, no ornament beyond the tightness at the corners of her mouth. She paused when she saw the two ofthem, reading the air with that quick accuracy he had come to recognize.
“Are we ready?” she asked.
“Almost,” Edward said.
Lady Eleanor’s gaze slid to Isla and grew colder. “My son is abandoning his duties to indulge your distress, Lady Isla. You have a talent for turning men away from their proper roads.”
Isla’s hand tightened on the balustrade. “Your son chooses his own road. He is not a horse to be led by a bit.”
“On the contrary,” the Dowager murmured. “He has always been too easily led. First by ships. Now by you.”
