Chapter Seven
June 19, 1818
Confusion swirled through Isobel’s insides as she met Fanny in the private parlor upstairs in their townhouse. Ivan trotted at her heels, for she would take him out for a walk soon, but her mind was steeped in uncertainty, and she needed to share her thoughts with someone before she burst from them.
“I apologize for my tardiness,” she said while settling upon a low sofa. Ivan sat at her feet. “For whatever reason, I’ve been prone to woolgathering recently.”
Oh, she knew exactly the reason she was having difficulties concentrating, and it all centered around a certain red-haired doctor who apparently had great skill in kissing.
“That’s understandable. Life just now is blanketed by sorrow.” Though Fanny smiled from where she perched on a delicate chair with her feet propped on a footstool with an embroidered cushion, she appeared wan and pale.
“Are you feeling well? You don’t look quite the thing. And you missed the cadaver exam last week.” The longer Isobel peered at her friend, the more she saw signs of ailing. “Please don’t tell me you’ve contracted a wasting disease.” Her chest tightened at the thought of potentially losing her friend.
I can’t invite more death or illness into my life right now. What’s already there is too much.
“Why are you always so dramatic?” Fanny waved a hand. She smiled, but the gesture didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’m well enough. It’s just that my stomach is quite delicate and is rejecting some of the things I eat.” She shrugged and laid her hands in her lap. The sapphires and diamonds of her engagement ring twinkled in the sunlight that streamed into the room from the open windows.
“I’m so sorry to hear that. William mentioned you were sick the other day; I assumed you’d have passed it by now.” Isobel frowned. “Perhaps you should see an apothecary for something that might quiet your stomach.”
Fanny nodded. “Perhaps I shall if it doesn’t grow better. Because of it, I couldn’t accompany William on his interviews today, and that makes me sad.”
“I’m sure you’ll be right as rain again in no time and bedeviling my brother.” In many ways, Fanny was the perfect match for William. They were both intelligent and had a knack for solving crimes. The fact that Bow Street didn’t mind having her along on cases spoke volumes. Perhaps someday women would be more widely accepted in every facet of society, for they had the abilities to fashion livelihoods the same as men.
“I hope you’re right. It’s breaking my heart.” A faint smile took possession of her mouth. “We’ve rarely been apart since we wed.”
The imminent death of their mother had delayed William and Fanny’s wedding trip. But she didn’t want to hear about their romance. Love and matrimony might be fine for some ladies; she didn’t happen to be one of them. Now, give her a chance at scandal with a handsome man, and she would move heaven and earth to make such a thing happen.
“Perhaps the two of you can take some time for yourselves. Go down to Brighton or make use of the Derbyshire property.”
“I’ll talk to William about it. At present, his case load is heavy. And both destinations are far enough away that if something happened here, we couldn’t immediately return to London.” Fanny sighed and peered at Isobel. “Why did you wish to talk with me? You’re not sick too, are you? Oh, I hope I didn’t give you whatever is bothering me.”
Isobel held up a hand. “Calm yourself, Fanny. I’m not ill.” Perhaps chasing insanity, but it wasn’t a physical malady she suffered from. “I came to ask for advice.” After that kiss she’d shared with Royce two days past where he’d started tiny fires burning in her blood that smoldered still, she wished to pursue an affair with him. For, unless she’d missed her guess, he had no use for courtship or romance either.
“On what?”
She shrugged. “Men.”
“Oh.” Fanny’s eyes rounded. Interest sprang into those light blue depths. “Have you found a suitor?”
“Hardly.” Isobel snorted. She leaned down and gave Ivan’s ears a scratch before settling more comfortably into the sofa’s back. “Do I have your promise that what I tell you won’t be shared with anyone?”
“Of course!” Fanny smiled and looked more like her old self.
“Not even William. Promise me. If he knows what I’m doing, he’ll forbid it or worse.”
Her friend nodded. “You have my utmost discretion.” She raised her eyebrows. “Who has caught your fancy? From what I’ve understood, though you’re an accomplished flirt, you never let men close once you win a kiss from them.”
Heat went through Isobel’s cheeks. She wasn’t ashamed of her behavior or her flirtations, but she was annoyed she’d apparently garnered enough of a reputation that it had made the rounds in gossip. “Is it my fault that I can tell what sort of person a man is after one kiss?” The fact she didn’t keep her experimentations to only members of the ton was perhaps telling, but she didn’t care. Men were men, no matter their class, and with her aversion to titled gentlemen, she had to be creative.
Fanny shrugged. Her cheeks were stained pink. “William was the first man to ever kiss me.”
“I had no idea.” Though she tried not to gawk, Isobel couldn’t imagine kissing only one man. Where was the challenge in that? Where was the rush? “In any event, I’ve recently come across someone whose kisses have caught me off guard.”
That wasn’t necessarily the truth. Kissing Royce had seemingly opened the world up to her. In his arms, there was heat and excitement, but also freedom, for he wouldn’t make demands of her. It wouldn’t take much convincing on her part to lead him on so that he’d introduce her to the pleasures of the flesh, and if they happened to enjoy a collection of trysts between them, where was the harm?
“Who?” Fanny fairly bounced in her seat; her eyes were alight with curiosity. “Tell me. Do I know him?”
“Do you swear you’ll keep this to yourself?” When her friend nodded, Isobel sighed and lowered her voice with a glance to the open doorway. “Doctor Marsden.”