“I said nothing to Poole.”
Isabella grimaced with understanding. ’I suppose you expect me to do the same.“
Damien shook his head. “The decision is entirely yours, Isabella. I shall not interfere.”
Isabella’s violet eyes widened involuntarily. Damien was not a man who allowed events to control him;hecontrolled events. “Lord Poole will want me to leave The Grange. He has been hinting rather broadly at the notion these past few days. Once he learns the truth, he will be most insistent.”
“I expected as much. Will you go?”
An aching lump in Isabella’s throat made it difficult to breathe. The thought of leaving Damien brought forth physical pain. He made no mention of marriage, and that hurt. When she had discovered early last night that she was not carrying a child, Isabella’s immediate reaction had been relief, but that was quickly followed by a puzzling burst of disappointment.
She knew it would be better to allow the budding affection between Damien and herself to grow without the added complication of an unplanned child, but now they were discussing the possibility of her leaving The Grange entirely. Isabella shivered. She had grown fond of this disordered, eccentric household. She held Catherine and Ian in genuine affection and their father close to her heart.
“I would leave here with great reluctance,” Isabella said quietly.
“Don’t look so downcast, Isabella. If Poole has his way, he will be the new owner in a few short months. You could return then.”
Isabella flushed. She had been obsessing so much about her own dilemma, she had quite forgotten Lord Poole’s ownership of the Whatley Grange mortgages. “Perhaps I can persuade Thomas to work out a more equitable settlement. I am certain that given sufficient time, you will be able to reclaim the mortgage.”
“No.” Damien stiffened. “Under no circumstances are you to bring this matter up with Poole. Is that understood, Isabella?”
“I only want to help, Damien.” Isabella lowered her head. She knew her offer had pricked the earl’s pride, but the situation was sufficiently grave to dispense with ego.
“I know your motivation is pure, my dear. ’Tis Poole’s I distrust.” Damien rose to his feet. “I promised Catherine and Ian I’d take them riding this morning. Then I will leave them in Jenkins’s care while I wade through the mountain of papers on my desk. I think you deserve the day off.”
Isabella smiled wanly. “I would welcome a quiet afternoon. Thank you.”
Damien took her hand in his, brought it to his lips, and softly caressed her upstretched fingers. His expressive gray eyes held hers in a sensual spell as he deliberately moved her fingers across his chest and over his heart before dropping her hand. It was an intimate, tantalizing gesture that left Isabella still feeling its effects long after the earl had left her alone.
Isabella’s fingers quivered slightly as she struggled to fasten the small buttons on the back of her gown. She had consumed a second pot of coffee and an entire slice of plain toast, and she had soaked in a hot bath until the water lost its warmth. She was already ten minutes late to a rendezvous she had requested with Lord Poole, and her taut nerves were beginning to fray. By the time she managed to finish dressing and pin up her hair, Isabella freely admitted she was suffering from a full-blown case of cold feet.
She was genuinely puzzled at her hesitation. Thomas had shown her endless kindness and consideration this past week, offering her a sympathetic ear, entertaining conversation, and continuous pleasant company. He had spent many hours with Catherine and Ian, playing their favorite games and amusing them with humorous stories. Yet it was his constant unflappable good humor that struck Isabella oddly. No one was that nice all the time.
Her unaccountable sense of unease was probably a subconscious result of Damien’s intense dislike of Lord Poole, Isabella decided. She suspected Thomas would be overjoyed when she told him they had discovered a link between her mother and his father, but a small hint of doubt was enough cause for her to worry.
Isabella ran lightly down the steps, determined to banish these thoughts and make this encounter with Thomas a festive event. Clutching a piece of the heavy vellum paper discovered among her mother’s belongings tightly in her sweating palm, Isabella crossed the hallway and entered the drawing room.
Lord Poole was sitting by the window, reading a book. He was dressed as immaculately as usual in blue knee breeches, an embroidered silver waistcoat, and a light blue coat. His snowy white neckcloth was elaborately tied, and his fair hair was meticulously brushed.
“Good day, Isabella. I missed seeing you at breakfast this morning, but you look so enchanting, I believe the wait was worth it.”
He smiled so broadly, she could see small creases at the corners of his blue eyes.
“Good afternoon, Thomas,” Isabella said. She moved toward the sofa and Lord Poole politely stood up. “I have some good news to share with you. That is, I think it is good news, and I very much hope you will feel the same.”
“This sounds rather serious. And intriguing. Come and sit by the window. ’Tis more comfortable here in the sunlight.”
Isabella meekly followed Lord Poole to the sofa and sat down. He took a place next to her, so close that his knee was almost touching her own.
“Do you recognize this paper?” Isabella’s voice shook slightly, but she was pleased she managed to keep her hands steady as she passed the sheet of vellum to Lord Poole.
He merely stared at the blank page.
Isabella reached over and gently lifted the vellum towards the sunlight. “Now does it seem familiar?”
Lord Poole looked hastily from the paper to Isabella and then back again. “This parchment is from my private stationery stock. It has my bull-and-star watermark. Did you find it in Emmeline’s room?”
There was silence for a moment while Isabella fought to calm her thumping heart. “The writing paper was found among my mother’s belongings. Damien and I both believe it proves a strong connection between my mother and your family.”
