did mean well.
"And then I met him," Lissa finally admitted, voice turning treacherously soft as she sank down onto the edge of Aunt Prudence's massive bed, her spunk escaping her.
"Ah, now there is the rub, I s'pose," murmured Prudence. "Dare I inquire as to the identity of this 'him'?"
Lissa glanced away, out the windows, to the spreading lawns one story down, and to the dark line of woods hedging the area beyond.
"His name is Gabriel," she said, imagining him alongside the river, angling still. "Gabriel Gordon, the sixth Earl of Wylde." She glanced back at her aunt. "But you already know that. I can see that you do."
"Aye, my sweet. I have heard a murmur or two."
Lissa took a deep breath. "What did Tilly tell you?"
"Tilly? Nothing, dear. She didn't have to. Unfortunately, Lis, I heard the rumor from John Coachman... who'd heard it from the stable boy... who heard it from the newsboy... who heard it from—"
"Dear heavens!" Lissa cut in, cringing. "Whatdid you hear, Aunt Pru?"
"That you have developed a tender for Lord Wylde."
There came a long beat of silence, time in which Lissa decided such a thing as a tender on her part was not so terrible. After all, such a rumor did not involve his feelings—only hers. Perhaps she was saved from Lord Wylde's wrath.
"A tender?" Lissa repeated, keeping her voice emotionless. "A young woman is allowed such a thing, is she not? I see no harm in people repeating such a rumor."
"But that is not all, "Prudence said. "I also heard that you and his lordship have embarked upon a liaison."
Lissa's heart plummeted directly into the pit of her stomach. "Oh," she murmured, and then, unable to help herself, added, "Dear God, help me."
"Someone ought to help you, if indeed this rumor is true! Is it, Lissa? Have you actually gone and entangled yourself in a liaison with the Heartless Lord Wylde?"
Lissa's head shot up. "He is not heartless, Aunt Pru. Oh, how I wish others would desist in referring to him in such an odious fashion!"
Prudence eyed her niece closely. "So you've come to know the man well."
"No! Of—of course not. I only met him this day."
"Yet you have already deduced he is not without a conscience."
"He is not heartless, of that much I am certain."
"I see. What other conclusions have you drawn?"
Lissa felt her blood surge through her body just thinking of Lord Wylde. "That he enjoys angling for trout more than he likes the intrusion of people in his domain," she admitted softly, honestly. "That he is a man of few words and strong actions."
Prudence was silent for a moment. Quietly, she asked, "Are you fond of him?"
"I hardly know him."
"That doesn't answer my question, Lis. Are you? Fond of the man?"
Lissa's brow knitted anxiously. "I told you. I barely know the man, Aunt Pru."
"Yet when you speak of him, your voice goes soft."
"It doesn't!" insisted Lissa. "How ridiculous. I—I merely met with the man this morning. We talked of trout and flies and angling. I—there is nothing more to be said of the matter, really."
"What of this rumored liaison?"
Lissa paled, looking back at the windows, not seeing anything in particular this time. " 'Tis just that, a rumor."
Prudence sat down beside her. She took Lissa's right hand in both of hers. "So all of this wasn't your intent, was not a desperate ploy on your part, my sweet? It wasn't your way of thumbing your nose at your too-persistent aunt who has been ruthlessly plaguing you to make a match?"
Lissa felt her eyes flood with tears at her aunt's perception. A lump formed in her throat. She could hardly speak, let alone think.
"Oh, Aunt Pru," she finally whispered, heartsick. "It was. It—it was exactly that, I am afraid."
Lissa began to cry then.
Prudence wrapped her arms about her, drawing her close. "Ah, Lis, I have been too stern in my wish to see you wed. I realize that now. I simply hoped for you to make a marriage while you are young and passionate, and not to wait too long as I have done. I would
"And then I met him," Lissa finally admitted, voice turning treacherously soft as she sank down onto the edge of Aunt Prudence's massive bed, her spunk escaping her.
"Ah, now there is the rub, I s'pose," murmured Prudence. "Dare I inquire as to the identity of this 'him'?"
Lissa glanced away, out the windows, to the spreading lawns one story down, and to the dark line of woods hedging the area beyond.
"His name is Gabriel," she said, imagining him alongside the river, angling still. "Gabriel Gordon, the sixth Earl of Wylde." She glanced back at her aunt. "But you already know that. I can see that you do."
"Aye, my sweet. I have heard a murmur or two."
Lissa took a deep breath. "What did Tilly tell you?"
"Tilly? Nothing, dear. She didn't have to. Unfortunately, Lis, I heard the rumor from John Coachman... who'd heard it from the stable boy... who heard it from the newsboy... who heard it from—"
"Dear heavens!" Lissa cut in, cringing. "Whatdid you hear, Aunt Pru?"
"That you have developed a tender for Lord Wylde."
There came a long beat of silence, time in which Lissa decided such a thing as a tender on her part was not so terrible. After all, such a rumor did not involve his feelings—only hers. Perhaps she was saved from Lord Wylde's wrath.
"A tender?" Lissa repeated, keeping her voice emotionless. "A young woman is allowed such a thing, is she not? I see no harm in people repeating such a rumor."
"But that is not all, "Prudence said. "I also heard that you and his lordship have embarked upon a liaison."
Lissa's heart plummeted directly into the pit of her stomach. "Oh," she murmured, and then, unable to help herself, added, "Dear God, help me."
"Someone ought to help you, if indeed this rumor is true! Is it, Lissa? Have you actually gone and entangled yourself in a liaison with the Heartless Lord Wylde?"
Lissa's head shot up. "He is not heartless, Aunt Pru. Oh, how I wish others would desist in referring to him in such an odious fashion!"
Prudence eyed her niece closely. "So you've come to know the man well."
"No! Of—of course not. I only met him this day."
"Yet you have already deduced he is not without a conscience."
"He is not heartless, of that much I am certain."
"I see. What other conclusions have you drawn?"
Lissa felt her blood surge through her body just thinking of Lord Wylde. "That he enjoys angling for trout more than he likes the intrusion of people in his domain," she admitted softly, honestly. "That he is a man of few words and strong actions."
Prudence was silent for a moment. Quietly, she asked, "Are you fond of him?"
"I hardly know him."
"That doesn't answer my question, Lis. Are you? Fond of the man?"
Lissa's brow knitted anxiously. "I told you. I barely know the man, Aunt Pru."
"Yet when you speak of him, your voice goes soft."
"It doesn't!" insisted Lissa. "How ridiculous. I—I merely met with the man this morning. We talked of trout and flies and angling. I—there is nothing more to be said of the matter, really."
"What of this rumored liaison?"
Lissa paled, looking back at the windows, not seeing anything in particular this time. " 'Tis just that, a rumor."
Prudence sat down beside her. She took Lissa's right hand in both of hers. "So all of this wasn't your intent, was not a desperate ploy on your part, my sweet? It wasn't your way of thumbing your nose at your too-persistent aunt who has been ruthlessly plaguing you to make a match?"
Lissa felt her eyes flood with tears at her aunt's perception. A lump formed in her throat. She could hardly speak, let alone think.
"Oh, Aunt Pru," she finally whispered, heartsick. "It was. It—it was exactly that, I am afraid."
Lissa began to cry then.
Prudence wrapped her arms about her, drawing her close. "Ah, Lis, I have been too stern in my wish to see you wed. I realize that now. I simply hoped for you to make a marriage while you are young and passionate, and not to wait too long as I have done. I would
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