Constance had to steel herself to turn and acknowledge Sir Isaacson. She’d been fretful of this meeting ever since she’d been caught with Devin in a rather compromising position in his bed. Since she hadn’t heard from the baronet since then, she wondered if perhaps his regard had waned. While she wouldn’t have cared if it had, as they had nothing but a friendly acquaintance between them, she worried that he might have spread some unnecessary gossip about her “cousin.”
However, as she offered him a polite greeting in return, she was relieved to see that the smile he bestowed on her wasn’t condescending, nor arrogant. In truth, his striking blue eyes were welcoming, as if nothing untoward had occurred in the slightest.
“Sir Isaacson. What a pleasure to see you again.”
He bowed over her hand and kissed the back of her gloved knuckles. “As if I would miss an opportunity to be in your kind presence.” He lifted a sandy-colored brow. “I understand this evening’s performance shall be quite memorable.”
“Indeed?” Constance hadn’t yet had the opportunity to check out the musicale program, but the countess had gushed about the performers all the way there as they’d rode in her carriage. She had told her that the viscountess’s eldest daughter had quite an impressive voice. “I daresay I’m even more intrigued.”
“I hope that you will allow me to escort you to a seat, and perhaps join you?” He held out his arm to her in a silent entreaty.
She glanced at Marguerite, who waved her away with her fan. “Have fun, my dear. The count shall entertain me if I grow bored this evening.”
She offered a slight smirk and Constance inclined her head before accepting the baronet’s arm graciously. “In that case, I should like that very much, Sir Isaacson.”
As they took their seats, he asked, “Is Lady D’Orsay not attending this evening?”
“I heard she was under the weather,” Constance said noncommittally, hoping that he wouldn’t ask her to elaborate. While she had often wondered about Marguerite and Alfred’s rather close, personal association, she didn’t wish to add to the rumor mill when it was always anxious to churn.
“I do hope it isn’t serious,” he returned, although he left it at that.
As the performers began to take their position at the front of the room where a section had been set aside as a makeshift stage, the baronet leaned over and whispered in her ear, “I trust your cousin is faring well.”
Constance felt her pulse flutter at the mention of Devin. She wasn’t inclined to speak of him, so she said coolly, “Yes. Quite.”
“I’m relieved to hear it. Perhaps this means you will be making more public appearances? Or at least, that I will be able to steal you away more often.”
She turned to look at him, the slicked back hair and smooth, clean-shaven face that was likely the work of a valet, and she couldn’t help but compare him to Devin and the jawline that was struck with a constant hint of stubble.
But more importantly, Constance wondered if Sir Isaacson’s sudden, outward charm wasn’t just a way to give her a false sense of security so that he might expose her current situation for the lie he likely knew it was. She decided that he would be worth watching closely, and since she had learned long ago to keep her potential enemies near, she merely smiled and said, “I shall count upon it.”
A short time later, after Constance applauded all the performers thus far, the musicale paused to offer the guests some refreshments. As the baronet escorted her to get some punch, he asked her who her favorite was. “I have to agree that the countess was right, and the viscountess’s daughter had a lovely soprano.” She accepted the cup he offered and took a light sip.
“She is very talented,” he concurred. “Although I have to wonder...”
“Yes?” she prompted, although she feared what was coming.
He regarded her steadily. “What sort of talents you might possess.”
And there it is. Constance stiffened slightly. Now it all made sense. He had played the part of a gentleman all evening just so he could find a way to indulge her in a proposition. And there was no doubt it was coming. His expression told her that, because she had seen it countless times before. She drank her punch, but the flavor had dulled considerably. “I fear it’s nothing terribly exciting, I assure you.”
“There’s no need to be modest with me, Mrs. Hartford,” he returned softly, and then he dared to reach out and run his finger along her upper arm. “Perhaps I should ask your cousin his opinion?”
Her eyes sparked with warning. “That is uncalled for.”
“Then surely a small demonstration wouldn’t be amiss?” His lips curled upward slightly. “Maybe we can discuss it somewhere more private tomorrow morning.”
Constance did her best not to let her revulsion toward his touch show. Although she couldn’t keep the impatience out of her voice. She knew she had to agree to this little liaison if she wanted him to keep his silence. Perhaps by tomorrow she would figure out a way to dissuade his attentions. “What time,” she said flatly.
“Ten. I’ll pick you up in my carriage.”
“Very well.” She set aside the rest of her drink. “If you will excuse me, I believe that I shall forgo the rest of the entertainment. I fear the punch isn’t agreeing with me.”
She didn’t give him a chance to reply as she went to find the countess, praying that she didn’t actually cast up her accounts knowing what tomorrow would bring.
Constance was thankful that Lady Blessington didn’t ask many questions about her departure, nor argue when she said she would take a hackney back to the townhouse.
When she arrived back at 37 Weymouth Street, she walked in the front door and leaned against the solid strength of the door. Tears stung her eyes, but she ignored them. She had hoped that after Alessandro had died she would finally be free from a man’s empty flattery and even more shallow affections, but it seemed that Madame Corressa was not only alive and well but thriving.
