secured wheels and become dirtied with dust in the process.
When it was clear no progress prevailed, four young girls emerged from the white coach with a maid in tow. They ran willy-nilly towards the crowd on the curb and then farther into the park behind them. Lily twisted her neck to watch them pass. Did her sister realise how similarly she laboured her own maid?
She had no time to consider it. A wave of murmuring and excitement whispered through the small crowd. She followed the motion of the others and raised her eyes to see Lord Highborough leap from his front steps and out into the street where the coach wheels remained helplessly locked no matter the effort of the three servants.
‘Oh la, just look at the superb cut of his navy blue waistcoat. The shade is the perfect selection for the crystalline hue of his eyes.’
Isabelle swung her head to the lady at her left in time to catch the wave of twittering giggles that followed the statement.
‘Yes, and note his tight buckskin breeches and polished Hessian boots. He is a walking dream.’
This observation came from her left and Isabelle turned as a hint of a smile itched her lips. Then a gentleman spoke in a sympathetic tone and remarked how he hoped the earl would not become angered at having to intercede and spoil his fine attire.
Isabelle raised an eyebrow at the speculation his lordship spurred. The ridiculous nature of the comments surrounding her instigated a bubble of laughter to rise to the surface. She let it free and gazed down at Lily to share a bright smile. Then they both returned their eyes to the street where much to everyone’s awe and admiration, Lord Highborough removed his waistcoat and cravat, rolled up both sleeves of his fine lawn shirt, and positioned himself alongside the servants at opposite ends of his carriage to lift the heavy wheels and disentangle the lodged spokes.
A hush swept over the crowd and a small round of twittering and applause followed. Isabelle declined to offer accolades, deeming the spectacle absurd and refusing to become another babbling ninny on the corner of Park Lane.
True, she hadn’t missed the way his shoulders tensed when he lifted the coach or the striking silhouette of his upper arms as they strained against the fabric when he braced himself to adjust the wheel, but she could appreciate his form without melting and cooing like the foolish ladies surrounding her. Honestly, one couldn’t help but notice how his not quite sable hair fell forward over his brow before he swept it back in a fluid nod of his head. She swallowed heavily as the earl glanced upward to converse with the outrider atop Lady Newby’s carriage. True, he
did
appear dangerously rakish and devastatingly handsome. For a fleeting moment, her mouth went dry.
‘Isabelle?’ A tug at her arm shifted her attention to Lily. Having stayed near the edge of the crowd, they remained in a good position to back away from the corner unnoticed.
‘What is it, sweetling?’ Her heartbeat slowed to normal, along with her pulse.
How unlike her to become so concerned with traffic patterns.
Her eyes returned to the street.
At first, she would have agreed Lord Highborough might become angered at having to assist his coachman and ruin his very fine attire, but instead, he’d laughed and chatted with his driver as if helping to keep traffic flowing in the city’s streets was an everyday occurrence. Even Lady Newby waved a pink handkerchief out her coach window before it rolled to a stop in front of her residence down the lane. It would appear all of London adored the Earl of Colehill. The society pages had not exaggerated. For some strange reason, the realisation made her feel a trifle ill.
Lily pulled on her arm again, anxious to continue their stroll and Isabelle set her feet into motion. She dared a quick glance to the second-floor windows of Lord Highborough’s townhouse to discover
him
peering at her from above. How long has she lingered? Good
When it was clear no progress prevailed, four young girls emerged from the white coach with a maid in tow. They ran willy-nilly towards the crowd on the curb and then farther into the park behind them. Lily twisted her neck to watch them pass. Did her sister realise how similarly she laboured her own maid?
She had no time to consider it. A wave of murmuring and excitement whispered through the small crowd. She followed the motion of the others and raised her eyes to see Lord Highborough leap from his front steps and out into the street where the coach wheels remained helplessly locked no matter the effort of the three servants.
‘Oh la, just look at the superb cut of his navy blue waistcoat. The shade is the perfect selection for the crystalline hue of his eyes.’
Isabelle swung her head to the lady at her left in time to catch the wave of twittering giggles that followed the statement.
‘Yes, and note his tight buckskin breeches and polished Hessian boots. He is a walking dream.’
This observation came from her left and Isabelle turned as a hint of a smile itched her lips. Then a gentleman spoke in a sympathetic tone and remarked how he hoped the earl would not become angered at having to intercede and spoil his fine attire.
Isabelle raised an eyebrow at the speculation his lordship spurred. The ridiculous nature of the comments surrounding her instigated a bubble of laughter to rise to the surface. She let it free and gazed down at Lily to share a bright smile. Then they both returned their eyes to the street where much to everyone’s awe and admiration, Lord Highborough removed his waistcoat and cravat, rolled up both sleeves of his fine lawn shirt, and positioned himself alongside the servants at opposite ends of his carriage to lift the heavy wheels and disentangle the lodged spokes.
A hush swept over the crowd and a small round of twittering and applause followed. Isabelle declined to offer accolades, deeming the spectacle absurd and refusing to become another babbling ninny on the corner of Park Lane.
True, she hadn’t missed the way his shoulders tensed when he lifted the coach or the striking silhouette of his upper arms as they strained against the fabric when he braced himself to adjust the wheel, but she could appreciate his form without melting and cooing like the foolish ladies surrounding her. Honestly, one couldn’t help but notice how his not quite sable hair fell forward over his brow before he swept it back in a fluid nod of his head. She swallowed heavily as the earl glanced upward to converse with the outrider atop Lady Newby’s carriage. True, he
did
appear dangerously rakish and devastatingly handsome. For a fleeting moment, her mouth went dry.
‘Isabelle?’ A tug at her arm shifted her attention to Lily. Having stayed near the edge of the crowd, they remained in a good position to back away from the corner unnoticed.
‘What is it, sweetling?’ Her heartbeat slowed to normal, along with her pulse.
How unlike her to become so concerned with traffic patterns.
Her eyes returned to the street.
At first, she would have agreed Lord Highborough might become angered at having to assist his coachman and ruin his very fine attire, but instead, he’d laughed and chatted with his driver as if helping to keep traffic flowing in the city’s streets was an everyday occurrence. Even Lady Newby waved a pink handkerchief out her coach window before it rolled to a stop in front of her residence down the lane. It would appear all of London adored the Earl of Colehill. The society pages had not exaggerated. For some strange reason, the realisation made her feel a trifle ill.
Lily pulled on her arm again, anxious to continue their stroll and Isabelle set her feet into motion. She dared a quick glance to the second-floor windows of Lord Highborough’s townhouse to discover
him
peering at her from above. How long has she lingered? Good
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