and waited patiently for Isobel to give him her cloak. At
Edward’s prodding, she handed it to him and felt very shabby indeed
when she saw the butler’s clothes were of far better quality than
her own. As soon as she handed over the threadbare garment, the
butler passed their things to another servant, who disappeared with
them to Lord only knew where.
Edward looked at her self-conscious stance and
wished he’d had the sense to buy her some decent clothes before
they left New York. He ought to have known—he had berated himself
several times—that she had so few dresses and such a woefully
inadequate cloak. Ten weeks on the open sea did not seem to have
bothered her in the least. He’d often seen her standing on the
deck, that pitiful excuse for a cloak pulled closely about her,
staring out over the water as if the seas were calm and it was not
bitterly cold.
She had not complained even once during the long
post-chaise trip to London. It was impossible for her not to have
been uncomfortable; in spite of its being late in May, the weather
was unseasonably cool. After spending the night at Bristol, where
Edward sent word to his brother that they expected to arrive in
three or four days, they began the overland trip to London. The
roads had not been in good condition; they were muddy and the going
had been unpleasant, to say the least. Still, she had not uttered
one word of complaint until they hit the cobbles of London.
“ His lordship is expecting you.”
The butler sounded as though the phrase was one he was used to
repeating. He motioned for them to follow him. Isobel kept her eyes
on the floor and listened to the soft tapping of her boots on the
black-and-green squares of marble until they turned a corner and
stopped in front of a door halfway down another hall. She glanced
up at the gilt molding arching up into the ceiling, while the
butler pulled open the paneled doors and took two short steps into
the room. “Miss St. James and Mr. St. James, milord,” he announced.
She followed Edward inside.
The room was large and rectangular, with a
marble-topped desk that took up nearly all of one end. The walls
were covered with dark wainscoting, and had it not been for a large
window overlooking the gardens, the room would have been quite dim.
Nearly all the available space on the walls above the wainscoting
was taken up by portraits, all the way up to the ceiling, and it
gave the room a cramped feeling to have so many faces staring down
from the walls. An intricately patterned blue-and-white rug covered
nearly the whole of the wood floor she had seen at the edge of the
carpet. Her feet sank into the wool and she wished fervently that
it could hide her scuffed boots. She looked up from her feet and
was surprised to see no one. She was about to turn to Edward and
ask him where her father was when she was startled to hear a deep
voice say, “Do come in.” Someone stood up from a sofa that was
turned to face the fireplace. “So, I have finally found you.”
The earl, only slightly taller than average, was a
solidly built man whose eyes were exactly the same dark blue as
Isobel’s. It was at the eyes that the resemblance between them
began and ended. He looked about forty, but she later found out he
was nearer fifty. His nose was aquiline, and his eyes were nearly
overshadowed by heavy eyebrows. His forehead was high and his chin
long. His lips were plump but they stretched tightly over his teeth
when his mouth was closed. His skin was lightly marked from the
effects of the smallpox that had taken his wife and son. He had the
beginnings of a paunch, yet he stood so straight he seemed slender.
His graying black hair was curled at the sides and tied at the back
of his neck with a black ribbon. His neck was covered around with a
snow-white cravat tied into an elegant knot at the front. The ends
of the cravat were tucked into a soberly decorated waistcoat
sporting a heavy gold watch chain across the stomach. One foot
Edward’s prodding, she handed it to him and felt very shabby indeed
when she saw the butler’s clothes were of far better quality than
her own. As soon as she handed over the threadbare garment, the
butler passed their things to another servant, who disappeared with
them to Lord only knew where.
Edward looked at her self-conscious stance and
wished he’d had the sense to buy her some decent clothes before
they left New York. He ought to have known—he had berated himself
several times—that she had so few dresses and such a woefully
inadequate cloak. Ten weeks on the open sea did not seem to have
bothered her in the least. He’d often seen her standing on the
deck, that pitiful excuse for a cloak pulled closely about her,
staring out over the water as if the seas were calm and it was not
bitterly cold.
She had not complained even once during the long
post-chaise trip to London. It was impossible for her not to have
been uncomfortable; in spite of its being late in May, the weather
was unseasonably cool. After spending the night at Bristol, where
Edward sent word to his brother that they expected to arrive in
three or four days, they began the overland trip to London. The
roads had not been in good condition; they were muddy and the going
had been unpleasant, to say the least. Still, she had not uttered
one word of complaint until they hit the cobbles of London.
“ His lordship is expecting you.”
The butler sounded as though the phrase was one he was used to
repeating. He motioned for them to follow him. Isobel kept her eyes
on the floor and listened to the soft tapping of her boots on the
black-and-green squares of marble until they turned a corner and
stopped in front of a door halfway down another hall. She glanced
up at the gilt molding arching up into the ceiling, while the
butler pulled open the paneled doors and took two short steps into
the room. “Miss St. James and Mr. St. James, milord,” he announced.
She followed Edward inside.
The room was large and rectangular, with a
marble-topped desk that took up nearly all of one end. The walls
were covered with dark wainscoting, and had it not been for a large
window overlooking the gardens, the room would have been quite dim.
Nearly all the available space on the walls above the wainscoting
was taken up by portraits, all the way up to the ceiling, and it
gave the room a cramped feeling to have so many faces staring down
from the walls. An intricately patterned blue-and-white rug covered
nearly the whole of the wood floor she had seen at the edge of the
carpet. Her feet sank into the wool and she wished fervently that
it could hide her scuffed boots. She looked up from her feet and
was surprised to see no one. She was about to turn to Edward and
ask him where her father was when she was startled to hear a deep
voice say, “Do come in.” Someone stood up from a sofa that was
turned to face the fireplace. “So, I have finally found you.”
The earl, only slightly taller than average, was a
solidly built man whose eyes were exactly the same dark blue as
Isobel’s. It was at the eyes that the resemblance between them
began and ended. He looked about forty, but she later found out he
was nearer fifty. His nose was aquiline, and his eyes were nearly
overshadowed by heavy eyebrows. His forehead was high and his chin
long. His lips were plump but they stretched tightly over his teeth
when his mouth was closed. His skin was lightly marked from the
effects of the smallpox that had taken his wife and son. He had the
beginnings of a paunch, yet he stood so straight he seemed slender.
His graying black hair was curled at the sides and tied at the back
of his neck with a black ribbon. His neck was covered around with a
snow-white cravat tied into an elegant knot at the front. The ends
of the cravat were tucked into a soberly decorated waistcoat
sporting a heavy gold watch chain across the stomach. One foot
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