Not cruelty—Caroline Pembley was not cruel. Isadora had concluded that within the first five minutes and had not revised her conclusion since. She had merely expected something, had arranged her hopes around it with care and patience, and had arrived here today to see for herself what had replaced them. There was genuine hurt in her eyes, and she was managing it with more dignity than Isadora would have given her credit for at the outset.
That does not make it easier to sit across from her.
“Yes,” Isadora murmured. “He is very good at that.”
“You know, my dear Caroline is so wonderful with children,” Lady Pembley was saying, drawing her attention. “I have always said it is a natural gift. She was helping at her cousin’s nursery only last month, and the children simply adored her. Didn’t they, Caroline?”
“They were very sweet.” Caroline looked modestly at her hands.
How convenient for everyone.
“She has a natural warmth and patience that would have made her an excellent mother, much like the finest ladies of the ton.,” Lady Pembley continued smoothly, with the ease of someone segueing from one point to another while maintaining the toneof natural conversation. “A large estate with a small child requires such peculiar instincts. Not everyone possesses them.”
She looked at Isadora, and Isadora looked back.
There it is.There is the reason for the visit.
Not simply to see the house. Not simply to call on the new Duchess. But to demonstrate gently, graciously, over three cups of tea, that another woman knew him first, knew James’s habits and headaches and preferences, understood his tastes in theatre down to the plays she could almost but not quite name, and would furthermore have been very natural with the child.
It was,Isadora acknowledged privately, a very good plan.Executed with considerable skill. She would have admired it more if she had not been on the receiving end of it.
“I am very fortunate,” she said serenely.
She glanced toward the cradle, where Violet was stirring. She recognized the change in her breathing—the baby would soon wake up.
“She will want to be fed soon.” Isadora glanced back at her guests. “I am afraid our afternoons run according to the baby’s schedule at present, so?—”
“Oh, we are in no hurry.” Lady Pembley waved a hand with gracious ease. “Please do not let us interrupt your routine.”
“Indeed,” Miss Caroline concurred warmly. “I am sure the nurse?—”
“I prefer to be here when she wakes,” Isadora said mildly.
“Of course.” Lady Pembley smiled. “We would not dream of imposing. And as I was saying, Caroline has such a way with?—”
“I think she is waking now,” Isadora cut in pleasantly but firmly. “I am so sorry. She does keep rather strict hours.”
Lady Pembley opened her mouth, but then she turned. Isadora followed her gaze to find James standing in the doorway.
His coat was slightly wrinkled, his color high from the outdoors. He had been out with the steward, she knew, walking the far fields since midmorning. He had not expected company; that much was clear in the single second before he registered what he was looking at.
His eyes flicked from Lady Pembley to Miss Caroline to Isadora, taking in the tea service in one quick, practiced sweep.
His expression did not change, but something behind it did.
* * *
James heard Lady Pembley before he saw her.
He stopped in the doorway.
His eyes found Isadora first, which was, he noted distantly, becoming a common occurrence lately. She was seated with her hands folded in her lap, her expression carrying pleasant attentiveness. Then he saw the Pembleys.
Lady Pembley was sitting on the sofa with Miss Caroline beside her, a fraction closer to the edge of her seat than was proper, her eyes trained on Isadora.
He surveyed the scene for one second, then stepped through the door.
“Lady Pembley,” he greeted.
