Free Her Grace in Disgrace (The Widows of Woburn Place) by Claudia Harbaugh

could see the
insincere smile pasted on Lady Mercer’s face; after all these were mostly his
friends! But, of course, her words were warm and welcoming. “Oh, my goodness,
yes, you all must stay! I have been quite cut off here, languishing in the
country. I beg you to remain and entertain me!”
    There were smiles and murmurs
of assurances. Lord Mercer would go, the guests would stay.
    Distracted by the unexpected
announcement, Isobel did not see Lord Saybrooke approach.
    “Miss Kennilworth, it is a
fine night. I thought it might be pleasant to take a stroll in the garden.
Would you care to join me?” Saybrooke asked without a trace of pleasantness in
his voice.
    “I was about to propose the
same thing, Saybrooke,” drawled Lord Westcott.
    “Joanna!” called Lady Doncaster,
indicating the recently vacated piano.
    “Excuse me gentlemen, Miss
Kennilworth. I must perform like a trained bear.” Lady Joanna shot Isobel a
parting smile and obediently played a mediocre rendition of Beethoven’s
Moonlight Sonata.
     “A thousand pardons,
Westcott, but I did ask first,” Saybrooke said through gritted teeth.
    Westcott was much more at
ease and gave Isobel a dazzling smile. “Let us let the lady decide, shall we?”
    Isobel looked at Drew and saw
his discomfort.
    “Lord Westcott, I would be
pleased to stroll in the garden with you on another occasion. I must concede to
Lord Saybrooke’s prior request.” Lord Westcott’s smile remained fixed in place,
though it no longer reached his eyes. He bowed to Isobel. “I look forward to
it.”
    Lord Saybrooke extended his
hand, helping Isobel rise from the settee. Placing her hand in the crook of his
arm, Isobel and Saybrooke walked into the torch lit garden. Isobel took a few
steps away from Saybrooke and admired Henrietta’s charming garden. The scent of
lily of the valley drifted in the unusually warm spring air and Isobel breathed
in the sweet, seductive smell. Saybrooke looked at her, wreathed in moonlight.
His breath caught.
    “Izzy, I must talk to you.”
Saybrooke’s voice was barely above a whisper.
    “I assumed so, since you are
not one to suggest a moonlight garden stroll.” Isobel turned to face him and
they stood without speaking for a few moments.
    “I am truly sorry about what
happened when I last saw you,” began Saybrooke.
    “But not about what you
said.” It wasn’t a question.
    “Dash it all, Izzy. Can we not
just forget about it? Can we not be friends again?” Lord Saybrooke, former
vicar and used to making sermons, was having a very hard time finding the words
he wanted to say to Isobel. Saybrooke pulled his fingers through his sandy hair
ruining, his valet’s effort.
    “We were friends when we were
children. When we last parted, not recently in London, but years ago in Kent,
we were much more than friends, Drew. I do not think we know how to be friends
in adulthood. We seem to have lost the knack of it.”
    “We have not even tried. Not
really. Perhaps you can help me? What can I do to prove a friend to you?”
    “It seems to be my night for receiving
the offer of masculine friendship. Lord Westcott also offered his friendship,
but he did not need to ask how, Drew. He seemed to realize that all I needed
was a little kindness and not a lecture,” Isobel looked at Saybrooke his tall
frame swathed in moonlight. How she had loved him once.
    “Westcott! The man is a
thorough scoundrel, Izzy. I do not know what you were about at dinner,
exchanging coy smiles and fluttering your eyelashes, completely ignoring your
other dinner partner.”
    “Evidently the same thing you
were doing, for if you knew that I had abandoned Mr. Hyde-Price, you also must
have disregarded your dinner partners,” Isobel said evenly.
    “Never mind that,” Saybrooke
barked dismissively. “Westcott is not to be trusted, Izzy. He cannot have
honorable intentions.”
    “Why not? Am I so lost to
propriety that a man would not behave honorably toward me?”
    “Not when