devil, Isabel.”
“Lucky?”
“Of course!”
“Whatever do you mean? As my closest friend, you know that I don’t want to marry.”
“But that was to Lord Walling,” Charlotte said. “The waddling Lord Walling. Not to the young, devilishly masculine Marcus Hawksley. The man you used to incessantly talk about after your father’s summer house party when you were twelve.”
“That was a long time ago.”
“So? Look me in the eye and tell me you are not attracted to him now.”
Isabel fidgeted in her seat. “That’s not the point. I must tell you that Marcus and I have come to an agreement, an understanding that no one is to know about. No one but you. But you must promise not to whisper our secret to another soul. I know how you love to gossip, Charlotte, but you must swear to keep your flapping lips sealed.”
Charlotte’s blue eyes widened. “You have raised my curiosity, Isabel. I promise on our lifelong friendship.”
Isabel glanced at the closed parlor door to ensure no servants were about, and then turned to look at Charlotte. “We are to be together in name only,” Isabel whispered.
Charlotte blinked. “Whatever do you mean?”
“Our relationship shall remain passionless until the gossip has subsided, and Marcus can discover the true thief of the Thomas Gainsborough painting. Then we will be free to live our separate lives. I can travel to live with Auntie Lil in Paris, and Marcus can return to his…his former life.”
For some reason, Isabel could not bring herself to divulge—even to Charlotte—that Marcus Hawksley had a lady friend waiting for him.
Charlotte set her teacup on a saucer with a loud clink and sat forward. “Have you lost your wits, Isabel? How in the name of Hades do you plan on remaining passionless around Marcus Hawksley—a man you used to pine after and secretly watch? Did you not sneak into his guest room at your father’s country manor, rummage through his wardrobe, and wear his shirts?”
Isabel’s face grew warm at the memory. “I told you that was years ago.”
Charlotte dismissed Isabel’s argument with a wave of her hand. “I don’t believe you. Perhaps you should give true marriage a try.”
“No! You know what I have planned, what I have looked forward to for years. Marriage will ruin everything. Married women must forgo all their freedom to the dictates and whims of their husbands. My own mother was no different. Even though she loved my father, she sacrificed her dreams of writing because it was not socially acceptable for a countess to pen love stories. She always had regrets that even my loving father was aware of and dismissed as a woman’s unimportant fancy. I’ll not follow in her footsteps.”
Charlotte sighed. “All right, Isabel. I’ll support you in this as in everything. I can only hope to be as unlucky as you are and find myself engaged to a man as ruggedly attractive as Marcus Hawksley.”
Isabel cracked a smile. “Thank you, Charlotte.”
Charlotte leaned close. “Now tell me about the auctioneer who was after Marcus. What if he tries to accuse Marcus again?”
“Marcus plans to find the true thief, or at the least, determine who hired the thief to frame him. He believes the culprit has wealth and status.”
“Oh, I do love a good mystery,” Charlotte said, licking her lips. “I shall help you investigate the members of the beau monde . They are all hypocrites as far as I am concerned. You should hear Mother’s friends. Their vicious tongues are nothing less than shocking in their attempts to discredit others behind their backs.”
Isabel gave a grudging nod. “I told Marcus that I would help him infiltrate high society in order to find the evildoer. But what I failed to mention was that my involvement would be more than as a titled lady on his arm at every social event of the Season, and that I would take on more of an active role.”
“Ah, it seems Marcus Hawksley has yet to learn the true constitution of his
“Lucky?”
“Of course!”
“Whatever do you mean? As my closest friend, you know that I don’t want to marry.”
“But that was to Lord Walling,” Charlotte said. “The waddling Lord Walling. Not to the young, devilishly masculine Marcus Hawksley. The man you used to incessantly talk about after your father’s summer house party when you were twelve.”
“That was a long time ago.”
“So? Look me in the eye and tell me you are not attracted to him now.”
Isabel fidgeted in her seat. “That’s not the point. I must tell you that Marcus and I have come to an agreement, an understanding that no one is to know about. No one but you. But you must promise not to whisper our secret to another soul. I know how you love to gossip, Charlotte, but you must swear to keep your flapping lips sealed.”
Charlotte’s blue eyes widened. “You have raised my curiosity, Isabel. I promise on our lifelong friendship.”
Isabel glanced at the closed parlor door to ensure no servants were about, and then turned to look at Charlotte. “We are to be together in name only,” Isabel whispered.
Charlotte blinked. “Whatever do you mean?”
“Our relationship shall remain passionless until the gossip has subsided, and Marcus can discover the true thief of the Thomas Gainsborough painting. Then we will be free to live our separate lives. I can travel to live with Auntie Lil in Paris, and Marcus can return to his…his former life.”
For some reason, Isabel could not bring herself to divulge—even to Charlotte—that Marcus Hawksley had a lady friend waiting for him.
Charlotte set her teacup on a saucer with a loud clink and sat forward. “Have you lost your wits, Isabel? How in the name of Hades do you plan on remaining passionless around Marcus Hawksley—a man you used to pine after and secretly watch? Did you not sneak into his guest room at your father’s country manor, rummage through his wardrobe, and wear his shirts?”
Isabel’s face grew warm at the memory. “I told you that was years ago.”
Charlotte dismissed Isabel’s argument with a wave of her hand. “I don’t believe you. Perhaps you should give true marriage a try.”
“No! You know what I have planned, what I have looked forward to for years. Marriage will ruin everything. Married women must forgo all their freedom to the dictates and whims of their husbands. My own mother was no different. Even though she loved my father, she sacrificed her dreams of writing because it was not socially acceptable for a countess to pen love stories. She always had regrets that even my loving father was aware of and dismissed as a woman’s unimportant fancy. I’ll not follow in her footsteps.”
Charlotte sighed. “All right, Isabel. I’ll support you in this as in everything. I can only hope to be as unlucky as you are and find myself engaged to a man as ruggedly attractive as Marcus Hawksley.”
Isabel cracked a smile. “Thank you, Charlotte.”
Charlotte leaned close. “Now tell me about the auctioneer who was after Marcus. What if he tries to accuse Marcus again?”
“Marcus plans to find the true thief, or at the least, determine who hired the thief to frame him. He believes the culprit has wealth and status.”
“Oh, I do love a good mystery,” Charlotte said, licking her lips. “I shall help you investigate the members of the beau monde . They are all hypocrites as far as I am concerned. You should hear Mother’s friends. Their vicious tongues are nothing less than shocking in their attempts to discredit others behind their backs.”
Isabel gave a grudging nod. “I told Marcus that I would help him infiltrate high society in order to find the evildoer. But what I failed to mention was that my involvement would be more than as a titled lady on his arm at every social event of the Season, and that I would take on more of an active role.”
“Ah, it seems Marcus Hawksley has yet to learn the true constitution of his
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