“I have always been wise. You simply refuse to listen because I am also charming, and you find the combination suspicious.” Quentin picked up his glass again and leaned back. “Go home. Kiss your wife. Hold the baby. Stop pretending you are made of stone, because I assure you, Blackholm, no one believes it. Least of all her.”
Evander finished his whisky. The glass was empty, and he would not order another.
One drink. Control in all things.
Except, it seemed, the things that mattered.
“Thank you,” he said.
Quentin raised an eyebrow. “Did you just thank me? Should I mark the date? Shall I commission a plaque?”
“Goodnight, Quentin.”
“Goodnight, you stubborn, infuriating man. Give my regards to your wife.”
Evander stood, collected his coat, and walked toward the door.
CHAPTER 14
“You have stabbed yourself three times since I arrived, and you haven’t finished a single petal.”
Isabella set down her own embroidery hoop and peered at Mary’s needlework.
Mary looked down at the linen stretched across her hoop. The rose she had been attempting for the past half hour looked more like a wound than a flower, and there was a spot of blood on the leaf where the needle had found her thumb instead of the fabric.
“I was never any good at this,” Mary said. “Charlotte was the one with the steady hands. She could embroider an entire tablecloth in a week. Mine always looked like someone had let a cat loose on the thread.”
“It does have a certain feral quality.” Isabella picked up her teacup and settled deeper into the settee. “But I did not come here to critique your stitching. I came because I haven’t seenyou in days, and your last letter was only three lines long and mentioned the weather twice.”
Mary went to respond, but Isabella caught her.
“Before you deflect, you should know that the ton has been providing entertainment enough for both of us.” Isabella tucked her legs beneath her on the settee and pulled her teacup into her lap. “Lady Fellowes wore a turban to the Cavendish musicale. An enormous thing, green silk, with a stuffed canary perched on top. She told everyone it was Parisian.”
“It was not Parisian, I assume?”
“It was from a milliner on Cheapside who also makes hats for the Drury Lane pantomime. Mama recognized the canary. She said it was the same bird they used inHarlequin and the Enchanted Islelast Christmas.” Isabella sipped her tea. “Lady Fellowes was devastated. She left before the soprano finished her second aria, which was a mercy, frankly, because the soprano was dreadful.”
Mary laughed. It felt strange in her mouth, rusty from disuse, and the sound surprised them both.
“There is more,” Isabella said, clearly encouraged. “Lord Pruitt proposed to Miss Danbury at the Sefton dinner. On one knee. Between the fish course and the roast.”
“He did not,” Mary gasped.
“He did. In front of forty guests. And she refused him. In front of forty guests. Apparently, she told him that a woman who accepts a proposal delivered over turbot has no standards, and the entire table heard every word.” Isabella’s eyes gleamed. “Lady Sefton nearly fainted into the gravy boat. Lord Pruitt has not been seen in public since. Mama says he has gone to his estate in Dorset to recover, though I suspect Dorset will not be enough.”
“Poor man.”
“Poor man? He proposed between courses, Mary. At someone else’s dinner. The turbot was still on the table. He deserved everything he got.” Isabella set down her cup. “Oh, and Mrs. Abernathy’s pug bit the Bishop of London at a garden party. Drew blood. The bishop required a plaster, and Mrs. Abernathy told everyone the dog was a better judge of character than the entire House of Lords.”
“I have missed everything,” Mary said with a sigh.
“You have missed the nonsense. The nonsense has not missed you.” Isabella’s expression softened. “But I did not visit merely to discuss pugs and proposals. How are you, my friend? You know you can confide in me, don’t you?”
Mary picked up her embroidery and set it down again. The gossip had loosened something in her chest, the laughter clearing space for the heavier things waiting behind it.
It had been nine whole days since the kiss. Nine days of Evander passing her in corridors with a nod, speaking to her at mealsabout estate business and Tommy’s feeding schedule, treating her with a courtesy so careful it felt like a locked door.
“I have been busy,” Mary answered. “Tommy is growing so fast, and the house requires more attention than I expected, and I’ve been learning the accounts from Mrs. Cahill, and?—”
