The Wicked Heir (Spare Heirs #3)(23)
“We’re supposed to admonish people with a flick of a fan. I’m only doing as Roselyn suggested,” Isabelle said in place of an apology. Victoria simply needed to become used to London life and the prominent use of a fan in conversation. Isabelle turned her attention back to Evangeline to ask, “Now, what was the ride in the phaeton like?”
“Tall.”
“Evie, you must tell me more than that,” Isabelle begged, taking a step closer to her cousin.
“Very well… It was quite enjoyable, perhaps too much so.” Evangeline blushed a dark pink, and her mother started in their direction, her eyes narrowed.
“Evangeline, darling,” Lady Rightworth called to her as she neared. “We must leave at once. This dreadful wind will have your cheeks raw from exposure. You’re growing red as we speak,” she added in a desperate whisper. “I should have known better than to attend an outdoor event. You know I dislike the weather.”
“Yes, Mother,” Evangeline said in a soft voice, giving the others a nod of farewell before she turned to follow her mother away. Evangeline always did as her mother wished. And as honorable a quality as that was in a daughter, it was unsettling to watch when it involved Lady Rightworth.
“I would love to see Evie tell that woman no just once,” Victoria muttered as she watched them leave.
Isabelle hit her sister with her fan once more. “Shh! That woman is our aunt and she could hear you.”
Victoria jumped back, rubbing her arm again as she stared Isabelle down.
“Who do you think Evangeline’s mystery gentleman could be?” Roselyn said, stepping between them in a clear attempt at ending a sisterly squabble. “She’s being so secretive about him.”
“I know,” Victoria boasted. “It’s terribly obvious, just like Isabelle always is.”
“What have I done that’s obvious?” She adjusted the locket at her neck, hoping her sister hadn’t noticed the sudden appearance of her new piece of jewelry.
“The eyes you’ve been making at Brice hide nothing, Isabelle.”
“Oh, that. Well…I don’t know what you mean,” Isabelle lied, glancing across the open lawn to the man in question and sighing the second her eyes made contact with him.
“You’re correct, of course. Your infatuation isn’t obvious at all to everyone who sees you. Look, you’re even gaining the attention of his friend with all of your longing looks in their direction.”
Isabelle flicked her fan closed and hit her sister’s arm with it. “That is Mr. St. James. We’re…”
But her words drifted away as Victoria grabbed the fan from her fingers and snapped it in half.
“…friends. St. James and I are friends,” Isabelle finished, staring at her second broken fan in a week’s time.
“Right. Well, you may have this back now,” Victoria said in a chipper voice.
“My, what is the time? Is that Lily calling me? On my way,” Roselyn called out and scurried away from the corner of the garden where they’d gathered.
The wind whipped a strand of Isabelle’s hair from its confines, and she tucked it behind her ear as she glared at her sister. Polite chatter surrounded them, but Isabelle said nothing.
“I’ll go to Bond and buy you another fan tomorrow,” Victoria said after shifting on her feet and heaving a sigh.
“Is that a promise?” Isabelle asked.
“Of the most sacred sort.”
“Good. I don’t want to forget all that I’ve learned by lack of ability to practice,” Isabelle stated.
“Yes, none of us would want that,” Victoria muttered at her side, but Isabelle was already looking across the garden to where Brice still stood talking to St. James.
Brice seemed to be telling some tale. Isabelle wished she could hear him. She liked elaborate stories. She was sure she could listen to his stories forever, and someday she would. St. James, on the other hand, stood in silence, watching the event, the people chatting, the movement of the crowd as if looking for something or someone. Then their eyes met, and he gave her a nod. He wasn’t smiling, but there was a heartfelt quality to the warmth in his eyes. It was an improvement at any rate.
She smiled and adjusted the locket at her neck. And for a fraction of a second, she saw something quite different in St. James’s eyes than she’d ever seen there before: worry.
*
Fallon should have gone to her yesterday at the garden party, but the lawn between them might as well have been a canyon. He’d watched Isabelle chat with her friends while the wind billowed her dress out behind her. His hesitation to go to her wasn’t for the social implications involved with crossing the grass to speak with a lady but what he would have said once he reached her.
She was happy, a true innocent in a dirty world. Yet Isabelle was still wearing that necklace, unaware of its dark history. He needed to tell her. Truth could be cleansing or some such, couldn’t it? He was certain he’d heard it claimed somewhere, just not within these walls. As soon as he told her about what hung around her neck and the danger she was in while wearing it, the innocent light she possessed would dim a fraction. He couldn’t do that to her yesterday, but he needed to soon.
He braced his hands on his desk and stared unseeing at the documents strewn across its surface. Fallon had always strived to be in control of every situation he encountered, but there were times when keeping everyone around him safe was a difficult task.