Ten Ways to Be Adored When Landing a Lord (Love By Numbers #2)(11)

“He would marry you if you told him the truth, Isabel. If you explained it all.”

Silence fell between them and Isabel allowed herself to consider, fleetingly, what it would be like to have someone with whom she could share all her secrets. Someone to help her protect the girls … and rear James. Someone who would help her to shoulder her burden.

She pushed the thought aside, immediately. Sharing the burden of Minerva House would require sharing its secrets. Trusting someone to keep them.

“Must I remind you of the horrid creatures that Minerva House has shown to us? The ham-fisted husbands? The villainous brothers and uncles? The men so deep in their cups they could not find time to put food on the table for their children? And let us not forget my own father—willing to sell his children for funds enough for another night on the town, unable to support his estate, entirely willing to leave it penniless and without reputation for his child-heir.” She shook her head firmly. “If I have learned one thing in my lifetime, Lara, it is that the lion’s share of men are anything but good. And those who are tend not to be out searching the Yorkshire countryside for spinsters like me.”

“They cannot all be bad …” Lara pointed out. “You must admit, Isabel, the girls who come to Minerva House—well—their tables must be the worst of the lot. Perhaps men like the ones in there”—she indicated the magazine—“perhaps they are different.”

“While I doubt it, I shall give you the benefit of the doubt … but let us at least be honest with ourselves. I am not exactly the type of woman who could land a lord. Let alone a lord deserving of a magazine article to tout his exceptional qualities.”

“Nonsense. You are lovely and smart. And incredibly competent. And the sister to an earl—even better, an earl who hasn’t ruined his name yet,” Lara said emphatically. “I am certain London’s Lords to Land would be quite enamored.”

“Yes, well, I am also two hundred miles north of London. I imagine that these particular lords have already been landed—by a collection of lucky young ladies with subscriptions that do not travel by mail coach.”

It was Lara’s turn to sigh. “Perhaps not these lords. Perhaps the magazine is merely a sign.”

“A sign.”

Lara nodded.

“You think”—she paused to check the name of the magazine—“Pearls and Pelisses … is a sign. Why do we even receive this rubbish? ”

Lara waved a hand dismissively. “The girls like it. And yes. I think it is a sign that you should consider marriage. To a good man. One of means.”

Isabel softened. “Lara, marriage would only bring more trouble upon us. And even if it would not, do you really think good men of means are lining up in Dunscroft waiting for me to sally into town? ”

She opened the magazine, considering the description of Lord Nicholas St. John, the first of London’s Lords to Land. “I mean, really. This man is the twin brother to one of the wealthiest peers in Britain, rich in his own right, an exceptional equestrian, an unmatched swordsman, and, it seems, handsome enough to send the ladies of the ton running for their smelling salts.” She paused, looking impishly at Lara, “One wonders how the female population of London remains conscious when he and his twin appear together in public.”

Lara giggled. “Perhaps they are kind enough to maintain a certain distance from each other, for the safety and virtue of society.”

“Well, that would be the right and proper thing for this ‘paragon of manhood’ to do.” “Paragon of manhood? ”

Isabel read aloud, “Lord Nicholas is a veritable paragon of manhood—handsome and charming, with an air of mystery about him that sets fans and eyelashes fluttering. And the eyes, Dear Reader! So blue! Tell me again why this magazine is so supremely edifying? ”

“Well, not this particular article, obviously. What else does it say? “ Lara craned her neck to read along.

“But this lord is even more of a catch, Dear Reader! Why, his legendary travels across not merely the Continent but also deep into the Orient have both bronzed his skin and expanded his mind—no simpering misses will do for Lord Nicholas, ladies, he will want a companion with whom he can converse! La!”

“It does not say La!“ Lara reached for the magazine in disbelief.

“It does!” Isabel held it away. “La! Did we not profess to have found the very best of London’s gentlemen for your consideration? ”

“Well, I suppose that if he is that incredible a man, la is as appropriate as any other exclamation.”

“Mmm.” Isabel was reading on silently now.

“Isabel?” Lara leaned over to see what had captured her cousin’s attention. “What is it?”

At the fervent question, Isabel’s head snapped up. “Lara, you are right.”

“I am?”

“This silly magazine is a sign!”

“It is?” Lara was confused now.

“It is!” Isabel stopped reading and reached for a fresh piece of paper on which to write her letter.

“But I thought …”

“So did I. Nevertheless, it is.”

“But …” She paused, bemused, then said the first thing that came to mind. “But … what about two hundred miles between here and London?”