“Then you know what I am.”
He didn’t have to make open threats to start her shivering with the most primitive kind of fear. “Yes. As I knew Edith. And Cassidy, who wanted nothing more than to find others like her mother.”
The earl cocked his head, a deceptively boyish gesture that somehow hinted at menace. “And you are not afraid.”
“Edith was kind to me, always. She was a remarkable woman.”
“And she told you there were others like her?”
“She told me of the Greyburn Forsters, and—” She bit back her desire to tell the earl how much Edith had not wanted her children to know their English kin. “I always knew, yes.”
“Then you have been privileged.” He moved again, this time to circle around her. Cassidy gripped her hand, as if she would protect her friend from one of her own.
“I would never abuse that privilege,” Isabelle said, refusing to turn. “I understood the need for secrecy. I still do.”
“Admirable.”
He sounded anything but admiring. She had the bizarre conviction that he could somehow… know what she was. What she’d been in the years since she’d left England in disgrace.
“I am the only connection Cassidy has to her parents,” Isabelle said cautiously. “I… care about her. If you would only allow me to stay with her, for a while…”
“I doubt that you would be at ease among us, Mrs. Smith,” he said, and now there was no mistaking the warning in his voice. “My cousin belongs here; you do not. I will arrange—”
“No,” Cassidy said suddenly. “She came because of me. This is her country. She’s home.”
Home. Isabelle looked bleakly at the earl and almost wished he would refuse to let her stay.
Lord Greyburn turned on Cassidy with a frown—the first genuine emotion he’d shown since Isabelle’s arrival. Cassidy gazed back, entirely unintimidated. That fearless innocence was one of Cassidy’s unique gifts, and she used it, quite unconsciously, as the earl used the strength of his will. For the first time Isabelle wondered which would prevail. The scene put her in mind of David and Goliath.
She knew the end of that story. Did Lord Greyburn?
“Isabelle is the finest lady I ever met,” Cassidy said. “And she’s also my friend. If you make her leave, I’ll go with her.”
It was a reckless statement indeed from a girl so desperate to reunite with her own people, her own kind. But she didn’t waver. The earl was rigid, doubtless amazed that a country cousin dared speak so to him.
But he fell before her, just like Goliath. “Cassidy,” he said, “I wish to speak to Mrs. Smith alone.”
“You won’t send her away?”
“I shall naturally consult with you before taking any action.” His words were heavy with irony, but Cassidy gave him her brilliant smile and started toward him. He took a single step back.
“Aynsley,” he said. “See that Miss Holt is escorted to her room, and send the maid to attend her.”
Cassidy turned to Isabelle, squeezing her hand. “Don’t worry,” she said. “Everything will be all right.”
Isabelle almost believed her. Perhaps you won’t have everything quite your own way, my lord.
He glared at her as if he’d read her thoughts—though as far as she knew, that particular power was beyond even his kind. But he swiftly resumed his pose of indifference, his eyes hooding in apparent boredom.
“It seems my cousin can’t do without your presence, Mrs. Smith,” he said. “You may stay… on sufferance. If that offends you, you are free to go. She has no need of a governess—”
“And I want no recompense for helping a friend,” she said, meeting his gaze. “I was the one who told her of you, Lord Greyburn, when you were but a name on a piece of paper. I hoped that you would be… what Cassidy wished.”
“And am I, Mrs. Smith?”
“We have only just met, Lord Greyburn.”
They stared at each other. At last Lord Greyburn tilted his head, his smile without humor. “Very well, Mrs. Smith. Perhaps you’d like to join your… friend in inspecting the guest room. I’ll see that another is made up for you, and send a footman for your luggage.”