The Marquess and Miss Davies Read Online Free

middle of the ballroom floor, frowned at something, and wandered off!”
    Carys remembered this occasion. It had been nearly a year ago, at a ball—exactly which, she could not remember—and Isolde had been so incensed she talked of nothing else for days afterward. She had not had occasion to dance with Lord Brabury, herself. He was a pleasant-enough looking young man, tall and a bit lanky, with a mop of reddish hair which, although short, never seemed to be combed in any particular direction.
    Cicely Vale—a friend of both Isa and Carys—knew the gentleman’s sister, who had told her that Lord Brabury had few of the interests common to the young bucks of the ton , and spent much of his time writing poetry.
    “I think we should go to the dinner,” she said suddenly, to the astonishment of both Isa and her mother and, truth be told, to Carys herself.
    “This should be amusing,” said Isolde.
    * * * *
    Neither twin was surprised when Miss Carys Davies found herself seated next to Lord Tobias Brabury at the dinner for Lord Ravelstoke. Lady Davies was a good friend of Lady Dunston, who was their hostess, and Isolde was well-situated as well, both sisters being near the head of the table and between gentleman of high rank. Carys’s conversation was first with Sir Edmund Waverly, who was a jolly septuagenarian with a wealth of funny stories about the Prince Regent, whom he had known as a boy. After the soup, however, she turned her attention to Lord Brabury. She had decided to make a project of the encounter.
    “Lord Brabury,” began Carys, “I understand that you are a poet.”
    That was all it took.
    * * * *
    “You will be famous,” said Isolde later that night, as they prepared for bed.
    “‘Twas nothing,” replied Carys, grinning at her. “He only required the right woman to take an interest in him.”
    “Be careful how you speak. Maman and Lady Brabury will have the two of you married off before tiffin.”
    “We discussed that. Neither of us is the least bit interested in the other.”
    “No!” Such frank exchange was unheard of.
    “Yes. It was a brief digression between an explanation of the difference between a Spenserian stanza and a Spenserian sonnet.”
    “Lud.”
    “He was quite fascinating on the topic. And he doesn’t write doggerel, can you imagine? He’s really quite good.”
    Carys closed her eyes for a minute, then began to declaim.
    “My lady
     this is neither you nor I
    who waits, careless, for another spring.”
    Isolde only shrugged. “‘Tis tolerable, I suppose,” she said. “But I never know if a poem has any worth. Someone must tell me.”
    “Well, I think it’s much better than tolerable. We are taking a carriage ride in Green Park the afternoon after next, and he is bringing me an entire volume.”
    Isa frowned. “But you said that you were not interested in him.”
    “I’m not.”
    “But—”
    “Cannot a man and woman spend some few hours together, merely as friends?”
    Isolde stared at her twin. “No,” she said.
    “Pah.”
    “And you know it.”
    Carys threw herself into an armchair. “I am tired of carriage rides with young gentlemen!” she burst out.
    “What are you talking about? You just said— What is Lord Brabury, then?”
    “You know what I mean!”
    “For once, I do not.”
    “With someone with whom I must watch every word, every word, Isa, not a single syllable left unparsed for hidden meaning—”
    “Yes, I know, but—”
    “—not a chance remark allowed—”
    “—it’s merely the way—”
    “—and I cannot do it anymore, I can’t! I do not belong here!” Isolde sat on her bed, silent for a long moment. Carys did not appear ready to burst into tears, or to throw anything—not that she ever had, that was Isa’s own flaw—but she saw a sadness in her twin’s face that was new, and troubling.
    “I know,” said Isolde, finally.
     

Chapter 5: Lord Harcourt
     
    Lord Benjamin Harcourt was the fifth son of the Duke of Pressy,