The other girl, whose hair was secured with a strange, two-pronged hat that could have passed for rabbit ears, agreed. “Homebodies, the both of us, I’m afraid. We’ve heard the food is veryspicyoutside of England. We are not at all fond of spicy food.”
“Oh yes,” said Isobel, well aware of a lost cause when she met one. “That can be true.”
She turned back to the baron to show him the itemized gratuities in his wife’s file, but the two girls continued to speak, gossiping with their mother behind the baron. Isobel ignored them until a single name struck her ears like the clang of a bell.
“You don’t mean the Duke ofNorthumberland?” the baroness was asking.
“Oh yes, Mama,” said the owlish daughter. “Patrice is friendly with the youngest of his sisters, and she told us the situation is rather grave.”
The baron was ticking off service positions, accounting for anyone who might require a tip, but Isobel’s brain had departed their invoice. She stared at the pointof his pen as it bobbed up and down along the page. Her rib cage grew tight. She held her breath, straining to hear the girl’s next words.
“It was all of those years outside of England that did it,” the owl went on. “Spicy food is only the beginning; too much travel can take a terrible toll. But you must be very careful, Mama.”
“But what did Patrice say had become of the duke?” asked the baroness.
“Oh, he’s incapacitated, to be sure. Worse than an invalid. He doesn’t get out of bed, and when he does, it’s only to lie facedown on the floor. He barely dresses and grooming is entirely out of the question. He sacked the previous duke’s valet—he’s sacked all of the duke’s personal staff. Such rash behavior as can be expected of someone with too much exposure to other countries...”
The rabbit-ish sister said, “You cannot devote years to traipsing around the world and expect to remember what’s what when you return. You see this all the time among families returning from India. Remember Eleanor Stapleton-Block? That kohl around her eyes? And all the scarves?”
“The duke was hardly traipsing about the world,” corrected the baroness. “Northumberland fought in the war and was lauded a hero for his diplomacy and routing of the French. Let us not be disrespectful. Perhaps he’s in his cups. He’s lost two brothers in the last ten years, the poor man.”
The rabbit shook her head. “His sister claims he isnotdrunk, he’s ‘depressed.’ He hates being duke. Can you imagine, finding a dukedom hateful? Apparently he’s at a loss for how to manage the estate.”
The owlish sister nodded. “The duchess and his sisters waited and waited for his military career to endso he could come home and do his duty, and now this. Patrice says they’re at their wit’s end.”
“Pity,” mused the rabbit, “that giant estate and all of the land. But what good is property if he cannot manage it? They say his tenants are on the verge of revolt. The foundry’s stopped operation, cold and dark for the first time in centuries. Meanwhile, he sleeps all day and rides his horse all night.”
“Pity,” repeated the owl.
Isobel had gone stiff and still behind the counter. Her heart thudded in her ears, the sound of thunder, until it stopped beating altogether. It felt like a suspended bomb waiting to go off.
“Miss Tinker,” the baron was asking, “are you quite alright?”
Isobel stared at him. He spoke words, English words—words she knew—but she comprehended only the conversation behind him.
“Can you post a copy of this bill to our home in Marylebone? I’ll want one for my files and one for my steward.”
“Yes,” said Isobel. She had no idea what she’d agreed to post to Marylebone. She’d stopped listening.
She stood up, her pen still clutched in her hand. “Will you excuse me?” she said.
“But have we finished?” asked the baron. The owl and the rabbit ceased talking and stared at her.
“For the moment,” she said. She dropped the pen. She backed away from her desk.
She’d captivated them now—her odd jerky movements and her blank expression. They watched her to see what she might do next.
Somehow she found the words to say, “Forgive me. I’ve . . . I find myself suddenly indisposed. If you wouldbe so kind as to call again. I will be in touch. The holiday will be lovely, my lady. The trip of a lifetime.”
While the baron and his family stared, Isobel threw open the door to the stairwell and bounded up, already unbuttoning her dress.
Chapter Twenty-Four
If Isobel knew nothing else, she knew how to pack in extreme haste for an indeterminate journey. She bundled up the very few essentials that she absolutely could not survive without and raided her stash of money so she might buy the rest.
The essentials included clothing for two days, correspondence from the travel shop, and Samantha.
She hadn’t worked out how, exactly, she would gain access to Syon Hall, but she knew she could not turn up as a young woman alone.
