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“Is she very like you?”

“In some ways, I suppose. She’s a far better nurse than I could ever be. On the other hand, she’s never ridden a horse.”

It was Simon’s turn to laugh, and he was hit by a completely irrational desire to meet Mrs. Crawford. “Given the opportunity, I would be happy to teach her.”

Isla’s smile held a hint of sadness. “I think you would get along very well.”

“Lord Bancroft!” Lady Whitely’s grating voice interrupted their conversation, and moments later, the older woman stood before him. “And Miss Crawford! What an unexpected surprise.”

Simon bowed, and Isla executed a polite curtsy.

“Lady Whitely,” he said. “Always a pleasure.”

“Miss Crawford,” the older lady said. “May I introduce my husband, Lord Whitely.”

The gentleman approached with a slight limp. He acknowledged Simon with a nod. “Miss Crawford, is it?”

“Yes, my lord,” Isla said.

He eyed her curiously. “Betrothed to Bancroft, I hear.”

“Yes, my lord,” she repeated.

“Hmm. I daresay you shall be comfortable enough.”

Mentally expanding his gratitude over escaping any relationship with Lady Whitely to include her disdainful husband, Simon was spared from defending himself by Isla’s swift response.

“More than comfortable, my lord. Lord Bancroft has ample means and has already proved himself to be extraordinarily solicitous. To be quite frank, I cannot imagine marrying anyone finer or more well suited to me.” Lord Whitely’s skeptical snort would have been sufficient to silence most young ladies. Unfortunately for the gentleman, Isla was built of sterner stuff. Her chin rose a fraction. “What would you consider to be your strongest attributes, my lord?”

“Why, I have never given it any thought,” he blustered.

“Perhaps you have an especially open mind, thoughtful disposition, and uncommon civility,” she said. “Those would be praiseworthy indeed and would mean that you share some of Lord Bancroft’s honorable traits.”

It was the closest Simon had ever come to seeing Whitely sputter. The gentleman’s face turned an unpleasant shade of purple. Lady Whitely, on the other hand, was uncommonly pale, her lips pressed together in a disapproving, thin line.

“Good evening, Lord Bancroft. Miss Crawford.” Blissfully oblivious to her parents’ state of displeasure, Lydia approached them, her husband at her side.

Simon bowed, grateful for the diversion, regardless of its source. “Your Graces.” He waited for Isla to rise from her curtsy. “Isla, may I introduce the Duke of Tunstow. Tunstow, Miss Isla Crawford.”

“A pleasure, Miss Crawford,” Tunstow said, inclining his head.

“Thank you, Your Grace.” Isla smiled politely, but Simon sensed a shift in her mood. For some reason, she was more on guard with Tunstow than she had been with Lydia’s parents. He found that curious, but he had no desire to extend this meeting any longer than courtesy demanded, and if Isla felt similarly, he was happy to make their excuses.

“It was good of you to join us,” Simon said, “but out of deference to our hosts, I had best introduce Miss Crawford to Lord and Lady Monteagle before we are called to the table.”

“Of course,” Tunstow said, stepping aside to allow them passage.

A flicker of regret touched Lydia’s eyes, but her smile was understanding. Lady Whitely offered them a curt nod. Lord Whitely ignored them. Simon took Isla’s elbow and guided her away from the small group and toward their hosts.

“Tell me your father is more agreeable than Whitely,” he said.

“Infinitely,” Isla said. “I can think of two politicians and one university professor who might match Lord Whitely’s discourtesy, but my father would be more likely to offer you a drink and then invite you to watch a football game with him.”

“A football game?” Simon asked.

“I shall tell you about it the next time we go for a ride.”

With the promise of another outing together, the evening seemed suddenly brighter. “Come,” he said. “Monteagle and his wife are looking this way.”