Latham was about to reply when the words died suddenly on his lips. In the hall behind Sir Liam stood a young woman. She was slender and tall, clothed in a simple, yet beautifully cut, black crêpe gown. The black of her gown made the fairness of her complexion fairer still, and accentuated the beauty of her large, emerald eyes. Her auburn hair was pulled back in a chignon, while soft curls framed her heart-shaped face. The young woman regarded Latham with interest mingled with amusement, a slight smile on her lips.
“Isobel,” Latham said, his voice barely a whisper.
Sir Liam turned round and gestured for her to step forward. She did so, moving with grace and lightness, and placed her hand on her father’s arm. “So you recognize her, then,” Sir Liam said to Latham, and asked his daughter, “Do you not agree, my dear? This poor fool is obviously soaked to the bone one and is, very likely, on the verge of shivering as he stands there.”
Isobel remained silent.
Latham blushed, and felt annoyed for doing so. “I am very sorry to learn of your loss, my lady,” he said.
“Thank you, my lord,” Isobel replied in a voice that was low and musical.
Latham looked at Sir Liam with discomfort. “I could not possibly intrude—”
“Nonsense,” Sir Liam said, and turned to his butler. “Jenkins, see that my lord is taken upstairs and put directly in a hot bath, the hotter the better. Find him some dry clothes. I doubt mine will fit.” He patted his generous stomach. “But I am certain Williams will know what to do. Send word to Berkeley Square that Lord John Latham is my guest for the night. He shall remain with us until the morrow. Is that understood?”
Sir Liam squeezed his daughter’s hand, and said, “Come dear, we should return to the drawing room where we can wait for our guest by the warmth of the fire. Jenkins, make certain you bring a blanket and some brandy when he returns. It is a nasty night.” Without further ado, he led his daughter down the hall.
Latham stood as if carved from stone, staring at the empty space where Sir Liam and his daughter had stood.
The apologetic butler coughed. “If it would please you to come this way, my lord.”
Sir Liam squeezed his daughter’s hand, and said, “Come dear, we should return to the drawing room where we can wait for our guest by the warmth of the fire. Jenkins, make certain you bring a blanket and some brandy when he returns. It is a nasty night.” Without further ado, he led his daughter down the hall.
Latham stood as if carved from stone, staring at the empty space where Sir Liam and his daughter had stood.
The apologetic butler coughed. “If it would please you to come this way, my lord.”
THE RETURN