“Where are you going?” she asked Robert.
He winked one sea-green eye at her. “I’d rather not say.”
An assignation. Was he not getting a bit old for that? Of course, men like him—and Stephen—never stopped.
The two men stood and spoke in low voices. As they talked, Isobel noticed the lovely courtesan Claudette walk past the entrance to the room and catch Robert’s eye. Robert took his leave then, and Stephen slumped into the chair opposite Isobel and folded his arms across his chest.
To make conversation she said, “Sir John Popham mentioned again how much he values your assistance with the administration of the town.” She’d been surprised by Popham’s effusive praise. Apparently, Stephen did more with his time than charm women and drink to excess.
Stephen shrugged and scanned the room. Obviously, his work with Popham was not something he wished to discuss with her. He did not, however, have to be rude. What was the matter with him tonight? It was not her fault he was stuck with her.
Despite herself, she felt hurt. She thought they’d become friends, of sorts, over the weeks.
A handsome older woman bedecked in jewels and crimson silk appeared at Stephen’s side. When the woman leaned down and whispered in his ear, he squeezed her hand and nodded.
“Do not move,” he told Isobel as he got up. “I shan’t be long, but there is someone I must speak to.”
Speak to? Ha! She watched Stephen saunter out of the room with the woman. Who did these men think they were, telling her to stay put while they cavorted with all manner of women?
She felt awkward sitting by herself. She had little experience with gatherings such as this. Visitors to Hume Castle were few, and her husband rarely took her anywhere else. She was immensely grateful, then, when Monsieur de Lisieux rushed over to join her.
“To abandon such a beautiful lady!” de Lisieux said, throwing his hands up. “Truly, your friends do not deserve you.”
The broken veins and blotchy color of his face showed the signs of excessive drink. Who could blame the poor man, married to that wretched Marie?
“Perhaps you will let me show you the house while they are gone?” de Lisieux suggested.
“You are too kind.” She took the arm de Lisieux offered and smiled at the thought of Stephen returning to find her gone.
De Lisieux stopped at a side table to pour her a large cup of wine. He filled it so full she had to drink several large gulps for fear of spilling it. As they moved through the crowded rooms, de Lisieux pointed out various features of the house. Isobel made polite noises of appreciation.
Stephen was certainly taking his time.
She had a nodding acquaintance with a number of the guests from their visits to the castle. De Lisieux, of course, knew everyone. Their progress was slow as they stopped to chat with other guests milling about. Along the way, de Lisieux picked up a flagon of wine, and she let him refill her glass from it.
When neither Stephen nor Robert had returned by the time she and de Lisieux circled back to the front of the house, she was angry enough to spit. Where were they? She was more than ready to leave. If she had to “ooh” and “ahh” at one more ugly family portrait, she might scream.
“You must see the new stained-glass window I had put in the solar,” de Lisieux said as he led her toward the stairs. “The craftsmanship is exquisite.”
Better a window than another portrait. De Lisieux must have refilled her cup, for she had to drink it half down again so she would not spill it on the stairs. At least her host’s wine was better than his food. It took the edge off her hunger.
From the top of the stairs, she turned to look at the people milling about below. She did not see Stephen—or the woman in crimson silk.
“The solar is here,” de Lisieux said, drawing her away.
Inside the solar, scarlet pillows with heavy gold tassels were strewn haphazardly across the floor. How odd, with guests coming. Was it overly warm in here? She fanned herself with her hand. The servants must have made the brazier too hot.
“Excuse my pride, but is it not lovely?” de Lisieux said, leading her around the pillows to the window.
“Nice, very nice,” she murmured, though there was nothing special about the glass, save for its size.
Ha, Stephen would not think to look for her in here.Ifhe was looking for her. The swine. She narrowed her eyes, thinking of what he was likely doing with the woman in the crimson silks. She gulped down the rest of her wine. Without turning, she held the cup out for more.
What was de Lisieux saying? Something about tapestries? She’d ceased listening to his drivel some time ago.
“The one in the next room is most unusual,” he said, pulling her through another doorway. “You must see it.”
Her head began to spin. “I would like to sit, Monsieur de Lisieux.” She was embarrassed that his name came out sounding like “Mi-shoe Di-shoe,” but he did not appear to notice.
