'He's been with her all this time?' How it hurt to think of him with someone else.
'So I've been told. That will be all, Hannah,' she added as the maid handed Isabella her green pigskin gloves. Molly waited until the maid left the room and then said, 'They're friends of sorts. Dermott helped Helene when her husband died two years ago. Her child was only a month old, and to all accounts she nearly went mad from grief.'
'How did Dermott know her?'
'How does any young rake know the actresses at the Garden?'
'Is their relationship platonic, then?'
Molly hesitated.
'Never mind. How naive of me to even ask.'
'It was at first, but…'
'Of course. How could she resist? How could he resist when he never does.'
'Dermott was faithful to his wife. That I know. But before and after his marriage, well…' She shrugged. 'He's always been pursued; it would be rare for a man to refuse everyone.'
'And there's so many.'
'I'm sorry,' Molly quietly said. 'I know how painful this is, but the truth often is… and-what purpose would be served to deceive oneself?'
'I understand.' Isabella adjusted the gloves on her fingers.
'I wish I could sugarcoat the facts. He seemed to look on you very differently, and I confess I was hoping…'
Isabella smiled ruefully. 'So you have impractical dreams too. It's reassuring. I thought, perhaps, only I wished for the moon.'
There was a rap on the bedroom door.
'I think my chariot awaits,' Isabella said with a forced dan.
'Don't go if you don't wish to. I'll have Homie give your excuses.'
'Nonsense,' Isabella briskly said, 'I feel the need for some fresh air. It might help to blow away the gossamer dreams from my brain.'
'Take care with Lonsdale. He has a private side to him that isn't very savory.'
'Are you warning me off? He's accepted at all the best functions.'
'He's a marquis after all. And regardless the state of his finances and his bachelor vices, he has a title and looks. But he does need to marry for money.'
'As do a great number of my admirers. I'm not so innocent that I think my allure is strictly the shape of my ankle or the color of my eyes.'
Molly smiled. 'You have a good head on your shoulders.'
'I well understand the point of the season. The men are looking for wealth to marry as much as the women are. And if a title goes with the bargain, so much the better. But I have no intention of marrying anyone. In the foreseeable future-perhaps never. I dislike the notion of being married for my money.'
'In that case, Lonsdale will be disappointed.'
Isabella grinned. 'Better him than me.' And with a wave she left the room and descended the staircase to see Lonsdale's smart phaeton and team.
He was waiting in the drawing room, standing at the window, facing the street. He turned when she entered the room. 'You look very fine today-as usual, I should add.' The marquis's smile was charming as he walked toward her.
'Thank you. It looks as though the weather is cooperating for our drive.'
'I ordered the sun to shine particularly for you.' He offered his arm to her.
'How pleasant.' Isabella placed her hand on his arm and smiled up at him. 'A man of authority.'
'Do you like men of authority?' His drawl matched his quirked grin as they moved toward the door to the entrance hall.
'Only when they're ordering the weather for me.'
'Not in other things?' His gaze was amused.
He was very handsome, Isabella thought, in an ordinary way, very fair, like a young Apollo, with a well-formed athletic body and superb blue eyes. 'Never in other things,' she softly affirmed. 'I fear I'm sadly self- indulgent.'
The doors opened as if by unseen hands, and they moved into the entrance hall.
'Aren't we all,' he agreed. 'And to that purpose, I thought you might like to see a bit of the country today.'
'That sounds very refreshing. Although my aunt expects me back in good time to dress for my evening engagement.'
'I'll see that you don't miss your evening's pleasures,' he quietly said.
The marquis helped her up onto the high-perched seat of his phaeton and then jumped up beside her. After releasing his grip on the horses, the groom leaped into place on the back of the vehicle and with a crack of the whip, they were off.
The weather was indeed fine, sunny and warm, with a light breeze that caressed their faces as they bowled through the streets of the City.
'I'll drive out and you can drive back,' the marquis offered, weaving through traffic like a top hand.
'After the hectic pace of the past week, I'm content to simply sit and enjoy the scenery.' Isabella clung to the seat, swaying with the speed of the carriage and the rhythm of the horses. Lonsdale's team were coal black and gleaming, brushed to a glossy shine, the matched pair prime and fleet of foot. Before long, they were well along Kings Road on their way south. The City gave way to pasture and field and an occasional cluster of buildings. Until they reached the village of Chelsea, no longer so much on the outskirts as it once had been. With the City spreading in every direction, what had been a country village not so long ago was now a retreat for those needing rustication or a bit of bucolic repose.
The marquis drove up to an inn, brought his horses to a stop, and tossed his reins to his groom. 'I thought we'd take some refreshment here-a lemonade or tea if you wish. The parlor is quite clean, I'm told, and the proprietress makes a caramel shortbread that's worth the drive from the City.'
'I was tempted by the lemonade, but caramel shortbread too. How can I refuse?'
In moments she'd been helped down from the phaeton and was being escorted inside the Grey Goose. But rather than entering the front parlor, where several patrons sat, the marquis continued through the center hallway to the back of the inn, where he turned to insert a key into a door.
'What is this?' Isabella looked around at the well-kept garden out back, at the quiet hallway through which they'd walked, the sound of customers in the public rooms only faintly heard.
'I bespoke a private parlor.' Turning the key, he opened the door, and before he could turn back to her, Isabella caught a glimpse of not a private parlor, but an apartment. A well-decorated room quite out of place in the rustic inn. With two top hats on an elegant console table.
That shouldn't be there.
She glanced back to the inn entrance but saw no one. And when she swiveled around again, Lonsdale was reaching for her.
Isabella screamed, and he lunged at her, but she'd already pivoted and begun to run. As she raced down the hall, Molly's warning rang through her brain:
She could hear his footsteps pounding behind her, and grateful for her low-heeled slippers, and propelled by terror, she flew down the corridor, her scream rising to the low-hung ceiling and ricocheting back, the fearful sound filling the narrow corridor.
If he thought to capture her, she wasn't going to make it easy, she decided, raising her voice in a shrieking crescendo.
Isabella had no illusions about men like Lonsdale, who needed money to survive. She just hadn't thought he'd be so precipitous or blunt in his offensive. Naive her. And then she heard her uncle's voice shouting behind her, and a chill stabbed through her heart.
'Catch the strumpet! She stole my purse! The trollop stole my purse!'
