Chapter 3
Chapter
Three
The following afternoon, Isabella sat alone in Hyde Park, her maid several feet away leaning against a tree and preoccupied by the book she was reading.
Isabella, however, was consumed by another pastime altogether, that of people watching.
Or more to the point, watching Lord Whitmore strut along the banks of the Serpentine Lake, Lady Leveson on his arm as they stopped every so often to point out a duckling or swan that happened to swim by.
Like he even cared about the birdlife of the park. How fabricated this man was…
Lady Leveson had debuted the same time as she, but had married, bore a son and became a widow all within one year of the nuptials. Some said she exhibited a grieving widow very well, yet today she seemed far from melancholy.
The picture of them together was all so very pretty, and false if Isabella could judge one’s character correctly, and she definitely thought she could judge Lord Whitmore’s character to be one of untruths to gain his ultimate goal.
That being to bed the woman at his side.
She sighed and turned the page of the book that sat unread in her lap. She at least had to pretend to be reading in the shade just in case anyone happened to look her way and then proceeded to come speak to her.
But in truth she merely wished to sit in the park, alone in the quiet and enjoy the peace before this evening’s event undoubtably would steal her equilibrium.
She looked down at her book but moved her eyes to glance through her lashes toward Lord Whitmore after he belted out a boisterous laugh, the tinkling sound of Lady Leveson’s soon followed and she ground her teeth.
How sad her ladyship needed to pretend that his lordship was amusing.
He was far from being so, in fact, a bore would better match his character if she were to give an opinion of him.
He looked about the park, perhaps searching for others who had noted what a lovely time he was having with his current amour before his gaze stopped on her.
Not that he could see her watching him with her head still bent down at her book.
Or at least she hoped he could not see her keeping watch, for the rake didn’t need to think any more highly of himself, and he certainly didn’t need to believe she wished to know his every move.
Which she did not of course, but it was hard not to know where Whitmore was at any one moment, especially when he went to great pains to ensure everyone knew.
“Lady Isabella,” Lord Whitmore called, striding over to her, Lady Leveson on his arm.
Isabella looked up and arranged a small smile before moving to stand. She brushed down her dress and clutched the book she was reading at her front. Fought not to glare at her ladyship who was not her friend and had ensured she knew that fact the year they debuted.
Right now her ladyship’s smile was barely visible, more like a baring of teeth as if she wished to snap at her for interrupting her time with one of London’s most sought-after bachelors.
Well, Lady Leveson could have him. She wasn’t interested in him in the least and nor did the lady need to look so displeased. It wasn’t as if she had called out to his lordship to engage in conversation.
“Lord Whitmore, Lady Leveson,” she said, smiling at them both in the hopes she looked at least pleased to see them, even if she did not wish to be waylaid by them a moment longer than she already had.
A bee flew about them and, using her fan, Isabella swished it away. “A lovely day in the park is it not?” She watched as the bee buzzed near Lady Leveson, who screamed and ducked, Lord Whitmore’s startled gaze moving to the widow in alarm.
“Are you well, my lady?” he asked, obviously having not seen the insect.
“There is a bee,” Isabella stated matter-of-factly, glancing off behind her to ensure her maid was still present. “Did you not see it?”
“I had not. I was too distracted, you understand.”
Isabella scoffed and raised her brow. Distracted by Lady Leveson who no doubt would occupy his time for far longer this afternoon in the solitude of her home.
The thought of them alone, engaging in whatever nefarious things his lordship did with women was enough to make her stomach twist in revulsion.
What a cad he was. A rake.
She glared at him before the startled scream of Lady Leveson wrenched her attention from the vexing marquess once again.
“It’s chasing me. I’m certain of it.” Her ladyship moved away from them, swishing her hands around as if the bee was flying about her face.
It was not. In fact, Isabella could not see it flying anywhere at present.
“I find if you ignore bees, they tend to leave you alone. Stop flapping your hands everywhere and it will be soon be occupied elsewhere.”
“Ouch.”
She turned to look at Whitmore and found him clasping his eyebrow. “It’s stung me.”
“Oh, I must go if the bees are wild here today. I do not react well to stings, and we have the Craigmore ball this evening. I cannot be unwell and miss the event. I hope the sting is not too severe, Lord Whitmore.” Without another word, Lady Leveson turned about on her heels, called over her maid and left as if the devil himself was nipping at her feet.
Isabella gaped, before looking back at Whitmore. She felt her eyes widen at the sight of his face. Already his eyelid bulged and she could see the sting above his brow, jutting out like a tiny arrow.
“My lord, bend down a little. The stinger is still in your face.” He did as she asked and she reached up, pulling off her glove to use her nail to flick the stinger from his face.
At first she wasn’t aware of how terribly close she was to his lordship, but now she could feel the soft touch of his breath against her lips.
His eyes met hers and she quickly stepped back, placing a suitable distance between them. “I fear you’ll need ice. Perhaps you ought to come back to our home, which is closer than yours. I know we still have some ice in the cellar that could help with the swelling.”
“There’s swelling?” He reached up and his eyes widened at the feel of his face.
“There is quite a lot of swelling.” She didn’t want to scare him, but as swollen as he now was, he certainly needed to rest and administer a cold compress to his face.
“I should return home and hope the swelling comes down. I do not wish to burden Ravensmere with this small matter.”
“I do not think you ought to be alone. What if it gets worse and you’re unable to call for help?”
Even with his swollen face, he managed to smirk at her with mischief. “Are you worried about me, Lady Isabella? Do I sense some concern for my wellbeing?” he teased.
She raised one brow, not willing to give him the satisfaction of an answer, even though she was concerned. “I’m no more worried for you than I would be for anyone in your current situation. Do not read into my care more than you should. It would be a disservice to your ego should you do so.”
He chuckled and parts of his face did not shift as they ought with the gesture, leaving him looking far odder than she thought he would so quickly after the sting.
“Come, it’s getting worse, and I think you need to be monitored.
” She slipped her arm around his in case he decided to faint, and started back to where her carriage was parked.
“I shall have my groom inform your driver to come for you when sent for.”
“Whatever you say, Bells.”
She threw him a sharp glare, but decided to ignore his use of her name in such a familiar way. Instead, she helped him to her carriage and returned home. Their cook would surely have some remedy to help with bee stings and swelling, which unfortunately Lord Whitmore was suffering.
Quite a lot, if his enlarged nose, which had joined in with his eyebrow said anything about the matter.