looked past Isadora. “Not even your father,” she murmured, crossing the room to her husband.
Isadora watched her parents fondly, yet aware of the distance that had always lain between them. She could see the mutual respect they had for one another, could feel the affection they shared, yet she had no clue about the nature of their love. Was there passion? She couldn’t tell. To the outside observer, they were two excessively handsome people, gifted in commerce and conversation, certain of their place in the world. But passion? Did they know of such a thing? Did they care?
Thankful tapped discreetly on the parlor door. “Your guests have arrived.”
Isadora’s mouth went dry. This was it, then. The moment she had been waiting for and dreading. She needed her parents’ blessing on this venture.
“How delightful,” Sophia said, completely ignorant of the true purpose of the meeting. She had assumed it to be merely a social call. “Do show them in.”
Like a dazzle of sunshine, Lily Raines Calhoun flowed into the room. “Mr. and Mrs. Peabody. Miss Peabody. How kind of you to receive us on such short notice.”
Ryan entered behind her, looking even more appealing than he had the day before. He wore a well-tailored suit of clothes, though his waistcoat and cravat startled the eye. The cravat was a blinding royal blue, the waistcoat busy with a print of yellow banana fruit and exotic flowers.
He moved with a rolling gait, the unmistakable aspect of a man of the sea. From the corner of her eye, Isadora could see her father studying Ryan Calhoun, assessing him.
“Here is my son, Ryan,” Lily said, her graceful hand drawing him forward. He bent first over Sophia’s fingers, then Isadora’s. She thanked heaven for the black moleskin fingerless mitts she wore, for there was something searingly intimate about the gesture, and at least the fabric protected her from direct contact with his lips.
When Captain Calhoun looked up at her, his face was full of cruel-edged mockery. Isadora forced herself to hold her gaze steady. He was not going to make this easy for her. Very well. She would endure him.
She felt a familiar tickle at the back of her nose. Taking out a handkerchief with the lightning speed of a cavalier drawing a rapier, she stopped the sneeze in time.
Lily smiled at her. “Bless you, my dear.”
She said “Mah dee-ah” in the nicest way. As if she actually meant it. Isadora sensed she’d find an ally in Lily Calhoun.
Once they were all settled on the burgundy-striped chaise, the settee and the wing chairs before the hearth, Thankful served strong coffee laced with cream, and tea cakes heavy with honey and hazelnuts.
“And what is the name of your place in Virginia again?” Sophia asked sweetly.
Isadora held herself very still and secretly bit her tongue. Her mother knew more about the Calhoun family than Lily herself, no doubt. A number of not-so-discreet inquiries had informed her about the lavish plantation on Mockjack Bay, Virginia. Once it was established that the Calhoun family possessed only slightly less social status than the Lord Above, Sophia decided they were the right sort of people.
“Our place is called Albion. When my husband died, his elder son Hunter inherited it. Hunter is my stepson, and Ryan’s half brother.”
Isadora watched Ryan’s face carefully. A half brother. Did the two get along? Probably not, she decided, recalling Lily’s anecdote about Ryan disgracing himself by choosing Harvard over Virginia tradition.
He winked at her. Winked.
Heavens be, what was he up to now?
She pursed her lips and stared straight ahead, fighting a blush. Her mother and sisters were famous wits in conversation, but Isadora had never acquired the knack. She had no idea what to say to a man who winked at her. When she spoke her mind, she was considered offensive. When she echoed someone else’s opinion, she was denounced as boring. So whenever possible, she held her tongue and let her mind wander.
She knew she shouldn’t succumb to fantasy, but the murmurs of conversation lulled her, and before she knew it, she was a Southern belle at a place called Albion, where the sun always shone and the workers sang glad praises to the sky and the air was filled with birdsong and the scent of magnolias. Dressed in tulle flounces from a Paris couturier, she waited on the verandah while her favorite suitor galloped up on a white horse.
“Hello, Chad,” she would greet him demurely…except the man on the horse wasn’t Chad. He had flame-colored hair, a crooked grin, a provocative wink and…heavens be. What was Ryan Calhoun doing in the middle of her fantasy?
“…wouldn’t you say so, Isadora?” her mother was asking.
Jolted out of her reverie, Isadora nodded vigorously, having no idea what she was agreeing to. “Indeed I would, Mother.”
Ryan scowled at her.
“That is,” she hastened to add, “except that I also wouldn’t.”
Ryan rolled his eyes. What a hen-wit he must think her. She said, “And what do you think, Mr. Calhoun?”
“I think that sea voyages are dangerously unhealthy, particularly for a lady of delicate constitution,” he said. “If I may be permitted to agree with my hostess,” he added gallantly, inclining his head toward Sophia.
Isadora sent him a dagger glare. Didn’t he remember what Mr. Easterbrook’s letter said? Either he took Isadora along, or his position would be downgraded from skipper to second mate.
“I have been touring the Continent for years,” Lily said. “I’ve sailed from Gibraltar to Athens and suffered absolutely no ill health at all other than the usual mal de mer. Mr. and Mrs. Peabody, I was so hoping you would permit Isadora to go.”
Grateful for the support, Isadora perched on the edge of her seat. “You have always said that travel enhances a person’s character, Papa,” she reminded her father.
“It’s been so long since I’ve seen my dear sister,” Lily said.
“Rose is the widow of a Brazilian planter. She lives in a magnificent villa high in the forested hills overlooking Guanabara Bay. I’ve promised her for years that I’d visit.” She lifted her cup to her lips and took and unhurried sip. “Isadora would be such an asset to the voyage. Ryan needs her expertise as a translator, but if she spoke not a word other than English, I would beg to have her along as my guest and my companion.”
“Did I say I needed her?” Ryan asked with a laconic half grin. “I don’t recall that.”
“Mother, I simply must go,” Isadora said in a rush, deciding not to dignify his insolent remark with a reply. “I know how deeply I would grieve were I deprived of my own dear sisters’ company.” She managed to say this with a sincere expression.
“Mr. Peabody,” Sophia said, addressing her husband formally, “what say you?” She framed it as a question, though Isadora knew she had already made up her mind.
“Well, most certainly I approve,” Papa assured her. “You know how I feel about broadening our daughters’ experiences.”
“Does Miss Isadora need broadening?” Ryan Calhoun asked,
