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?”
Isabel looked up at that. She was quiet for a long while, tilting her head as she considered the words.
“Well then, I shall have to make a very convincing argument.”
Three
Lesson Number One
Do not attempt to make too strong of a first impression.
To land your lord, you must be seen, but barely heard. Do not overdo with conversation at first—you would not like to overwhelm him with your thoughts. While this might seem challenging, do not fret, Dear Reader. Your quiet grace shall be more than enough to land your lord.
Pearls and Pelisses
June 1823
Nick had traveled extensively, and he prided himself on his ability to see the value in even the most uninspiring of locations. He had spent years crossing the Continent—not in Vienna or Prague or Paris or Rome—but in the unsung villages of Europe. Afterward, he had traveled east, found gems in dingy Ottoman bazaars, embraced the simple pleasure of the tiny communities of the remotest parts of the Orient.
When he and Rock had hiked slowly from Turkey through the mountain passes of Greece with nothing but the clothes on their backs, Nick had spent weeks without hot food, without a bed, without a single luxury, and he had still discovered his passion for antiquities. There had never been a place in which he could not find a redeeming characteristic or two.
But he was very near giving up on the village of Dunscroft. There appeared to be little about the place that was worthy of note.
Nick and Rock stood together in the courtyard of the town’s only inn, waiting for their horses to be delivered. They had been waiting for nearly a half an hour, and the village’s early bustle had given way to a quiet, mid-morning laziness. Nick shifted his weight as he watched the door to the butcher’s shop open and a gangly boy emerge. The boy’s arms were piled high with packages and he dropped one awkwardly shaped parcel to the dusty ground almost immediately. When he turned back to retrieve it, his pile tilted precariously.
It was the most interesting thing that had happened since they had arrived in the little Yorkshire village two evenings earlier.
“A crown says he drops another before he reaches the haberdasher,” Nick said.
“Make it a sovereign,” Rock agreed.
The boy passed the shop without incident.
“Are you ready to return to London yet?” Rock asked, pocketing his winnings.
“No.”
“Will you at least consider leaving Yorkshire?”
“Not unless we have reason to believe she left Yorkshire.”
Rock took a deep breath, rocking back on his heels. After a long moment, he said, “It occurs to me that you are the one who is committed to finding the girl. There is nothing in this place that is keeping me. Ankara was more accommodating than this town.”