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“No, my lady,” Isabel answered sweetly. “Just that my husband tells the story so wonderfully. I would love to hear it again, too.”

She turned toward the Marquess of Vane, laughter in her eyes. She was certain he’d deflect it back to her and was already coming up with a story she could pass off as a grand love story when Vane stood.

“Very well,” he said and pierced Isabel with an intent gaze.

Isabel started to regret her impetuous words. What could he possibly say that would sound romantic? Or was he determined to ruin her? Surely not! His reputation was on the line, too.

“Isabel,” Richard murmured at her side and then tipped his head toward her glass.

She turned to look at her hand and realized she was squeezing the poor glass so tightly it was ready to break. She relaxed her hold and smiled at Richard.

He furrowed his brows and mouthed, “Are you well?”

Isabel nodded and turned back to her husband. He stood with a glass in his hand, his gaze still on her, a frown of concentration on his face.

“It was love from first sight,” Vane finally said, then cleared his throat. Isabel almost groaned. This was going to be terrible. “Or at least for me, it was.”

People around the table started chuckling, and Isabel looked around. Everybody’s attention was riveted to her husband. Good. Nobody was paying her any heed. She turned back to Vane, biting on her lower lip.

“I was a young boy, visiting my uncle who happened to be neighbors with Viscount Gage,” he continued, and Isabel frowned. What is he on about? “One day, I was walking through the forest and stopped for a rest by the stream. I was tired. I disliked my new lodgings, and I just wanted to go back to school. I was very young, you see.” He paused.

Isabel wondered if he was concocting the story on the fly. But why would he start so far in the past? So many years before they’d actually met?

“Just then, I saw a beautiful young girl wade through the water, walking along the stream. She was barefoot, with her skirts hiked to her knees—scandalous—but we were too young for that yet. She raised her head toward the sun, scrubbed her face, and laughed. The sound of her laughter was the most beautiful melody I’ve ever heard. She waded through the water, a wood nymph, a siren, a Goddess.” Vane shook his head as if waking up from a daze. He then turned and looked Isabel straight in the eyes. “And I was hopelessly in love.”

“Oh, my!” “How romantic!” people started exclaiming from their seats.

Isabel’s neck heated, and she found it hard to breathe. Vane’s gaze was still trained on her, and she felt decidedly uncomfortable.

“She did not know I was watching her, of course, and I thought it indecent to keep watching her without her realizing it,” Vane continued with a chuckle. “So I decided to make myself known. I stepped closer, not taking my eyes off her… then tripped and tumbled in an undignified heap.”

The entire room boomed with laughter, and Isabel found herself chuckling too. But as Vane continued his story, Isabel frowned. It sounded familiar. Hadn’t something similar happened to her in the past?

“I landed right at her feet,” Vane continued. “But instead of cursing me or screaming, the girl helped me up and tended to my wounds. And that’s the moment my love for her strengthened. Because not only was her visage beautiful, but her soul was also just as mesmerizing.”

“Oh, what a beautiful story.” A woman next to Isabel wept into her handkerchief.

“It is,” Isabel breathed, lost in the fictional tale of their love.

“That was the day I fell in love with the beautiful Miss Isabel Lewis. And I vowed to make her my wife someday.” A pause. “Of course, she did not reciprocate.”

More laughter followed from the men and a few gasps from the women.

“I was a gangly youth. I was thin and uncoordinated. My arms were long and disproportionate to my body, adding to that the fact that the first time she saw me, I was covered in dirt and couldn’t utter an intelligent word… I never had a chance with her.”

Isabel doubted this perfect specimen of a man, tall, wide-shouldered, and yes—she had to be honest with herself—handsome was ever the uncoordinated, awkward youth he described.

But she did know a boy like that, she suddenly recalled. And if she remembered correctly, they’d met similarly to the way Vane described. He’d fallen at her feet and spent the entire summer following Isabel around. The only difference in the story was that she had not been walking alongside the stream; she had been bathing in a single chemise. And they were not extremely young either, or at least Isabel wasn’t. She had been nineteen at the time, and the boy fifteen.

What was his name, again?

She frowned in thought. It was on the tip of her tongue.

Ah, right! Thomas. She wondered what had happened to him.

“Soon, she made her come out,” Vane continued. “I went to university, and our paths diverged. I didn’t think I’d ever see her again. Until I ran into her—quite literally—at the Duchess of Somerset’s ball.”

“And accosted her right in the corridor?” The dowager marchioness of Somerville raised a brow.