“You’ve kitted me out with everything I could possibly need, Samantha. Please do not worry.”
“I only wish I could join you,” Samantha said wistfully, staring up at the tall masts, now disappearing into a foggy mist.
“I know, but we’ve discussed it...”
She let the sentence trail off, glancing at her friend. Abandoning Samantha alone in London was one of a hundred reasons to resent this journey.
And yet...
And yet a strange bubble of excitement had begun to swell in the pit of Isobel’s stomach. Seasickness would drown it out soon enough, but at the moment, she could not deny her anticipation.
When she tried to regret or dread the journey, she was met with an exhilarating swell of eagerness instead. It had been so very long since she’d felt anything beyond the steady, stable balance of a life rebuilt. And stable and steady were very nice indeed. But oh, to look out and feel swooshing, bouncy anticipation. Was it wrong to crave an event that was unknown? Where anything could happen?
“So...” Samantha was saying, showing herself to be a very good sport indeed. “Ten days to sail to Iceland, a handful of days to work with the duke on hissecret mission,whatever it is...” she raised an eyebrow, “...and ten days to sail home.”
“Yes. Gone the month of September—no more.”
“And your mother knows,” confirmed Samantha.
“My mother knows.”
Isobel took a leave of absence every September to visit her mother in Cornwall. The holidays Isobel sold at Everland Travel were planned with a six-month lead time, and no one traveled in the bitter cold of winter. This allowed the month of September to be devoted to family and housekeeping and interviewing new chaperones, porters, and stewards.
But not this year. This year, September meant the Iceland “mission.” Meanwhile, Samantha would stay back at Everland Travel, carefully evading DrummondHooke and quietly transcribing five years of Isobel’s work.
When Isobel returned, she would call on each client personally and explain the launch of her new agency. They could transfer their patronage to the new shop or remain with Drummond Hooke.
“You’ll make certain Hooke won’t learn I’ve left the country,” Isobel confirmed, perhaps Samantha’s most important task while she was away.
“Do not think of it again,” Samantha assured. “He will not know unless he travels to Cornwall and calls on your mother. And God help him if he does that.”
Isobel nodded and squeezed her arm. Yes, God help him.
It had been Samantha’s idea to give Drummond Hooke no clue about their future. Isobel had constructed a complicated excuse and a threatening but vague hint of “significant changes to come.” Samantha ripped up the note, insisting that their only obligation was a reminder that Isobel took leave most of September.
“You shouldn’t call to the new building in Hammersmith during the workday,” said Isobel. “Go after you close the Lumley Street shop. If Hooke calls and you are gone?” She made a face. “Or you could visit Hammersmith on Sundays; your father will be appalled.”
“My father adores you and everything you do, as you know,” said Samantha. “I intend to pop in on the construction at odd times actually. Keep the workmen on their toes.”
After Isobel had finally consented, the duke had sealed her cooperation by giving her a tour of all potential buildings. He’d been clever and charming—if alarmingly clueless about the buildings in his possession—andshe’d chosen a spacious redbrick building on the corner of Queen Street, with a large front window and a flat upstairs.
Northumberland had then charged lawyers to transfer ownership of the new building. They had descended in a flurry of parchment and Latin addendums and moved everything along at a breakneck pace. An architect sent his card the very next day. Isobel met him in the afternoon to discuss her hopes for renovating the property.
Tradesmen came next: carpenters, draftsmen, masons, plumbers, woodworkers. When she returned from Iceland, the office and flat should be ready.
“It’s a moment in time,” Isobel told Samantha now. They locked arms beneath the umbrella, shrinking from the rain. “There are very big things in store for us. IfIcan manage Iceland. Andyoucan manage Hooke. If Hammersmith evolves. If our customers will follow us. If, if, if...”
“Indeed,” agreed Samantha. “I do hate it that you have tomanageIceland to achieve it. You don’t even want to go.”
Oh, I want to go, Isobel thought.
She said the words out loud, testing them. “I want to go.”
“You want to go,” repeated Samantha slowly.
Isobel paused, listening to the steady chant inside her head, her own voice repeating it again and again:Go. Go. Go.
“Yes. I want to go.”
