Page 21 of Engaging Sir Isaac

Miss Wedgewood did not cross the road to his side, but she took up her walk again. He gave her one glance before doing the same. Eight feet of road divided them.

“You look as though you wish to pick a fight with me again,” she observed, tone amused. “I wish you would tell me how I have offended you, so I might make things right between us. I thought, after your visit, we might be on more friendly terms.”

“That does surprise me. Many in your place would hold me in contempt.” He gave her a swift glance, noting the way her dark auburn hair peeked from the back of her bonnet. In profile, she was quite lovely. Though one might mistake her for a much younger woman, given her stature. “I appreciate the direct approach in your conversation today.”

“Interesting. I was told being direct with you would be a waste of time.” Her lips pursed prettily, and Isaac nearly walked into a branch. He barely stepped around it in time to avoid choking on a mouthful of leaves. “Given your apparent distaste for the family hosting my time in Aldersy, I should not be surprised the advice was ill-conceived.”

Isaac kept his eyes trained upon the path ahead of him, determined not to allow her to distract him again. “I much prefer direct and honest conversation to jests. Anyone who knows me well should know that. I imagine it was Lady Olivia who told you otherwise.”

“Lord Neil, actually. Though I think some of his counsel may have been sound.” She made a thoughtful humming noise, keeping pace with him on her side of the lane. “As you say you prefer directness, might I assume you give the same to others?”

He almost smiled and darted a look at her, finding her expression almost peaceful. “That would be a safe conclusion to draw.”

“Wonderful. Then I hope you will answer my earlier question. What have I done to offend you?” She stopped walking, turning to face him. Her posture was stiff, her chin tilted at precisely the same angle as that of a soldier awaiting inspection. But that peaceful look remained in her eyes, watching him, studying his response with care.

He tucked his walking stick beneath what remained of his left arm as he studied her. Directness. That was what she wanted. What they both wanted. “Your trespass upon my lands, accompanied by your blatant curiosity, followed upon by what you clearly meant as a flirtation at the marchioness’s dinner party sowed the first seeds of distrust. Finding you suddenly turning up near my sister, my friends, deepened my suspicions.”

Even from his distance, he easily saw the way her eyes gleamed at him. While he shared his surname with a creature known for its cunning, he had the sudden thought that Miss Wedgewood appeared more the fox than he did. The shade of her hair contributed greatly to the intelligence reflected in her eyes.

“Your suspicions of what, Sir Isaac?” That corner of her mouth moved upward again, revealing a dimple in her cheek. Did she have another, on the opposite side of her heart-shaped face, to match?

“That you are up to something.” Isaac winced as soon as the words escaped from him. He had no proof. Only a feeling that Miss Millicent Wedgewood had a purpose, a story, she would not be quick to share with him or anyone else.

Quiet laid between them, stretching across several seconds. Her amusement did not fade, but her posture did not relax, either. Finally, she brought her arms up to cross them over her middle while she tipped her head to the side. “I will tell you what I am up to, Sir Isaac. I am here at the home of the marquess to appease my mother.”

He tipped his head back and crossed his single arm over his middle, taking hold of the stick tucked under his war-shortened arm. It was his best way to approximate her guarded stance. “How so, Miss Wedgewood?”

“My family is out of favor with the fashionable set,” she said, and a muscle in her jaw twitched. “We have been for some time, due to circumstances outside of our control. My mother finds the situation deplorable. Unsuitable. When Lady Olivia offered a path back into the good graces of the elite, I was given my orders to make myself useful in whatever way possible.”

She spoke plainly enough, yet Isaac wondered at how she cast her eyes downward at the end of her speech. Miss Wedgewood did not reveal all. Though he hardly blamed her for it. Despite his preference for honesty, he rarely expected to receive it from those outside of his more intimate friends. English Society was built upon the keeping up of appearances, after all, and the forming of alliances. Not from stating the truth baldly and boldly.

Miss Wedgewood continued before he could voice his observations, which he fully intended to do. “Lady Olivia is not overly fond of my company. I think she finds me dull. But I am here, waiting upon her pleasure, until after the marquess’s house party.” Her tone changed, becoming almost indifferent, which made him focus his attention on those words. The indifference was feigned. The way she cut her eyes to one side, the disappearance of the dimple, indicated a deeper emotion than she expressed.

“Does it trouble you to be unwanted?” he asked, his usual blunt speech easily slipping from his tongue. He closed his mouth over the question, knowing Essie would take him to task for his lack of gallantry.

But Miss Wedgewood’s shoulders drooped, and she met his gaze squarely again. “Yes. It leaves me quite lonely. And I did flirt with you,” she added, further surprising him. “Because that is what a woman does to gain attention from a man. I also trespassed upon your land to ask questions about you, because what your neighbors said of you intrigued me.” She lowered her eyes and uncrossed her arms, giving her attention to adjusting her gloves. “And I rather like your sister, so the last several times we met had little to do with you and more to do with seeking out her company.”

Her tone undoubtedly indicated a wish to deflate his vanity. Strange, he hadn’t thought he still possessed any of that particular vice. Losing one’s arm tended to keep a man from thinking too highly of himself.

Isaac peered down one end of the road and then the other. No one was about. He crossed to her, tired of keeping the distance between them for no reason other than stubbornness. She watched him come, her eyes widening, but she did not retreat. Instead, she took up that soldier-like posture again, waiting for him to decree whether she passed muster or not.

“Miss Wedgewood, what is it you want?” he demanded, voice lowered as he stared down at her. He did not break eye contact. Did not allow her to look away, either. He watched for the telltale sign of a lie, a truth concealed. Isaac trusted his observations of people more often than he did their words. Even before his military career, he depended upon what his friends had called an ability to discern a person’s true character. The ability came naturally and served him well.

Her clear toffee-colored eyes studied his, as though she practiced her own version of his unique talent. “I want a place in Society. I want people to care whether I exist. I want friends.”

All true. Every word.

He stepped away, removing his walking stick from beneath what remained of his left arm. “I want to be left alone. Most of the time.”

“Pity.” Her cheeks lost some of their color. He started walking again, this time near her, and she fell into step beside him. He shortened his longer gait to make the experience less troublesome for her. “I rather hoped you would not mind my presence. What if I promise not to flirt with you anymore?”

He started, nearly dropping the stick. “I beg your pardon.”

“I thought you preferred direct speech?” Her eyebrows shot up and a grin spread across her face, revealing she did—in fact—have a matching dimple on the other side of her cheek. “I have already confessed that I am lonely, my hosts having no need of my companionship, and I find your conversation intriguing. If I promise not to flirt with you, will you tolerate my company?”

Isaac spoke stiffly, disapprovingly enough to make any general proud. “You are a very odd sort of young lady, Miss Wedgewood.”

The woman at his side laughed, the sound almost joyful. “I thank you for your directness, Sir Isaac.” She sounded far more amused than she ought, yet a pleasant sort of warmth spread through Isaac’s chest at the easiness of the sound and her smile.