the truth did not change the truth.
She had been profoundly wronged, and nothing she did could change that. But she didn’t have to think as society did, or act as they deemed appropriate for a woman in her circumstance. If Naomi Lockwood was intelligent enough to see the truth of the matter, and wished to remain on friendly terms, why shouldn’t Isabelle do so? Naomi was old enough to choose her own acquaintances. It wasn’t Isabelle’s responsibility to dictate to her former sister-in-law who she could or could not visit — including herself!
She met Naomi’s eyes with a steady gaze, grateful for the younger woman’s courage.
“It would be my pleasure,” she said, “to accept your kind invitation.”
Naomi threw her arms around Isabelle’s neck. “Thank you. I didn’t think you would.”
Isabelle returned her embrace and laughed. “You make a compelling argument.”
Setting aside the neglected biscuit, Naomi rose. She wrapped her hands in the silk rope of her reticule. “I hate to impose, Isabelle, but I wonder if you could come early on Friday and help me see about all the arrangements. Aunt Janine is a dear soul, but she’s an absolute bluestocking. She doesn’t care a snap for social pursuits, and hasn’t the foggiest how to go on as hostess. If Mama were there, I would leave it all to her.”
“Of course,” Isabelle said. She felt flattered that her former sister would seek out not only her company, but her assistance, as well.
Naomi took her leave, and Isabelle went looking for Lily. Being needed by Naomi gave Isabelle a small feeling of pride she had not felt in a long time. It was a tiny step back toward acceptance — by herself, at least, and maybe society, too.
Chapter Seven
Friday morning dawned clear, promising a fine day for the party. Naomi took her chocolate in her bedchamber at Bensbury and was finishing her toilette when there was a knock at her door.
“It’s Lord Grant,” her maid announced.
Naomi checked her hair in the mirror. “He may enter.”
Her brother strode into the room. He wore taupe breeches, tall black boots, a red striped waistcoat and a ruffed shirt with no coat over his sleeves. A thundercloud obstructed his features.
A feeling of foreboding washed over her. “Good morning, Grant.” She rose from her vanity. “I was on my way to breakfast. Will you join me?”
“I ate an hour ago,” he snapped. “Tell me, Naomi, why did the butler just announce the arrival of Mrs. Lockwood and Miss Bachman?”
Naomi’s stomach flipped. Although Aunt Janine thought inviting Isabelle was a grand idea, Naomi knew Grant wouldn’t share her opinion, and so had kept the scheme from him. Rather than answer the question directly, she chose to prevaricate. “I didn’t expect them quite so early, but it’s good they’ve arrived. Aunt Janine suggested a Moroccan theme, which would be fine if we had weeks to gather the ingredients needed for such a supper, but with only a few hours’ notice, I’m afraid it’s not at all practical.”
Grant’s fist slammed into the wall. “Naomi!” he bellowed. “I will not have that woman in this house.” A vein throbbed at his temple “I am disgusted by your disloyalty. How dare you bring her into Marshall’s home?”
“They’re all Marshall’s homes, aren’t they?” she retorted. “Which of his six estates is my home?” She crossed her arms under her bosom and thrust her chin obstinately. Because he was head of the family, as well as her guardian, Naomi had an obligation to obey Marshall. She owed no such deference to Grant. “In which house may I live as the grown woman I am and make decisions for myself?”
“You’ve been spending too much time in Aunt Janine’s company,” he said. “To answer your question, since you insist on being obtuse, none of Marshall’s houses are your home. You get your own home when you marry, just like every other female in England.”
“Oh, no!” Naomi raised a hand.
She had been profoundly wronged, and nothing she did could change that. But she didn’t have to think as society did, or act as they deemed appropriate for a woman in her circumstance. If Naomi Lockwood was intelligent enough to see the truth of the matter, and wished to remain on friendly terms, why shouldn’t Isabelle do so? Naomi was old enough to choose her own acquaintances. It wasn’t Isabelle’s responsibility to dictate to her former sister-in-law who she could or could not visit — including herself!
She met Naomi’s eyes with a steady gaze, grateful for the younger woman’s courage.
“It would be my pleasure,” she said, “to accept your kind invitation.”
Naomi threw her arms around Isabelle’s neck. “Thank you. I didn’t think you would.”
Isabelle returned her embrace and laughed. “You make a compelling argument.”
Setting aside the neglected biscuit, Naomi rose. She wrapped her hands in the silk rope of her reticule. “I hate to impose, Isabelle, but I wonder if you could come early on Friday and help me see about all the arrangements. Aunt Janine is a dear soul, but she’s an absolute bluestocking. She doesn’t care a snap for social pursuits, and hasn’t the foggiest how to go on as hostess. If Mama were there, I would leave it all to her.”
“Of course,” Isabelle said. She felt flattered that her former sister would seek out not only her company, but her assistance, as well.
Naomi took her leave, and Isabelle went looking for Lily. Being needed by Naomi gave Isabelle a small feeling of pride she had not felt in a long time. It was a tiny step back toward acceptance — by herself, at least, and maybe society, too.
Chapter Seven
Friday morning dawned clear, promising a fine day for the party. Naomi took her chocolate in her bedchamber at Bensbury and was finishing her toilette when there was a knock at her door.
“It’s Lord Grant,” her maid announced.
Naomi checked her hair in the mirror. “He may enter.”
Her brother strode into the room. He wore taupe breeches, tall black boots, a red striped waistcoat and a ruffed shirt with no coat over his sleeves. A thundercloud obstructed his features.
A feeling of foreboding washed over her. “Good morning, Grant.” She rose from her vanity. “I was on my way to breakfast. Will you join me?”
“I ate an hour ago,” he snapped. “Tell me, Naomi, why did the butler just announce the arrival of Mrs. Lockwood and Miss Bachman?”
Naomi’s stomach flipped. Although Aunt Janine thought inviting Isabelle was a grand idea, Naomi knew Grant wouldn’t share her opinion, and so had kept the scheme from him. Rather than answer the question directly, she chose to prevaricate. “I didn’t expect them quite so early, but it’s good they’ve arrived. Aunt Janine suggested a Moroccan theme, which would be fine if we had weeks to gather the ingredients needed for such a supper, but with only a few hours’ notice, I’m afraid it’s not at all practical.”
Grant’s fist slammed into the wall. “Naomi!” he bellowed. “I will not have that woman in this house.” A vein throbbed at his temple “I am disgusted by your disloyalty. How dare you bring her into Marshall’s home?”
“They’re all Marshall’s homes, aren’t they?” she retorted. “Which of his six estates is my home?” She crossed her arms under her bosom and thrust her chin obstinately. Because he was head of the family, as well as her guardian, Naomi had an obligation to obey Marshall. She owed no such deference to Grant. “In which house may I live as the grown woman I am and make decisions for myself?”
“You’ve been spending too much time in Aunt Janine’s company,” he said. “To answer your question, since you insist on being obtuse, none of Marshall’s houses are your home. You get your own home when you marry, just like every other female in England.”
“Oh, no!” Naomi raised a hand.
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