thirty-seven
Isabella couldn’t stop giggling as she and Anthony made their way to the house.
After their dip into the pool, they were both drenched. Her clothes were soaked and wrinkled by the seawater, and her hair was a mess, but she’d never been happier.
He pulled her to a dark corner from which one of the French windows to the ground-floor sitting room could be seen.
“If we get in through one of the secondary entrances, we’ll avoid being seen and questioned.”
They waited until the maid sweeping the terrace left. They stole across the path to the window. He peered inside before pushing the window open. The smell of beeswax and lemon polish made her giggle again for some reason.
“Shush,” he said, smiling. “We’ll get caught.”
They crossed the sunroom, leaving wet footprints on the terracotta tiles. He paused again before stepping into the corridor. Then they went up a secondary flight of stairs.
“Could you imagine my grandmama’s face if she saw us now?”
“You don’t need to imagine anything. You have only to turn around.” The Dowager’s voice came from the other side of the hallway.
Isabella gasped, and Anthony shoved her behind him as if his grandmother were an assassin.
The Dowager stood with her arms folded over her chest and her eyes narrowed to slits. She raked a slow, assessing glance over them. The lower the gaze went, the more her lips thinned.
“What is the meaning of…this?” She waved at them and the wet patches on the floor.
“We fell into the pool,” Isabella said at the same time as Anthony said, “We took a bath.”
“Which one of the two versions is true? For heaven’s sake, you didn’t even agree on telling the same story.” She pressed two fingers to her temples. “What if the servants see you like that? Wet, dishevelled, sneaking into the house like thieves!”
“Exactly,” he said. “We must change. I’ll see you later.”
“I agree.” The Dowager waved him away. “Go to your room. Now. I’ll help Isabella.”
“But—”
“Now, Anthony.”
Before leaving, he kissed Isabella on the lips, tearing an outraged gasp from the Dowager.
“Go. Shoo.” The Dowager hurried to Isabella’s bedroom and opened the door. Before letting her in, she peered inside. “No maid. In you go.”
“I can change alone.”
“I know.” The Dowager tossed her another glance. “What happened?”
“We were working in the garden, and it was so hot we decided to take a swim.” She peeled her drenched clothes off her body.
“Is that all?”
“What do you think happened?”
“I just want to make sure he didn’t do anything to upset you.” The Dowager helped her remove the skirt, twitching her nose. “There’s mud on the fabric.”
She towelled herself dry and put on a fresh chemise and her dressing gown.
“Sit, I’ll brush your hair.” The Dowager patiently untangled Isabella’s long tresses with expert moves. “Was he kind to you?”
“Very. Anthony is gentle and caring.”
