The air left Isabel’s lungs on a sigh. ‘Yes, about the wedding. He has a trip planned. Perhaps we will marry after that.’

Gwenore stepped closer. ‘What do you mean, perhaps?’

Less than a minute into the conversation and Isabel was already exhausted. ‘There is no rush.’

‘Is that what he said?’

‘No.’ She turned to face her mother. ‘Are you sure this match is a good idea?’

Gwenore’s face fell a little.

‘I really do not care for him in that way,’ Isabel added.

‘The love comes later. Every woman knows that.’

‘I have known the man for five years, and nothing has changed in that time.’

‘It will be different when you are wed, when you have the opportunity to be… close.’

That image had Isabel looking away. She had no interest in being intimate with him—or any other man, for that matter.

Gwenore closed the distance between them, taking her daughter’s left hand and holding it up between them. ‘Look at the scars on your hand.’

Isabel dropped her gaze to the unsightly skin.

‘It was Lord Hodge who dragged you from that burning house. The man has worshipped the ground you walk upon since you were fifteen years old.’

Isabel withdrew the unsightly hand and tucked it behind her back. ‘It might be a different story if the burns had been on my face.’

Her mother made an exasperated noise. The problem was she assumed Hodge was like his father, Lord Tompkin. A good man, another saviour of the family. But the new Earl of Hereford was more of an unsettling kind of hero.

‘Is all well between the two of you?’ Gwenore asked, holding her breath as she braced for Isabel’s reply.

What good would come of the truth? The family’s circumstances were what they were. She forced a smile. ‘All is well.’

Gwenore exhaled, then cupped her daughter’s face. ‘I know he is a very different sort of man, but we have built a life here at Hampstead. Your brother has such a bright future ahead of him. Inside these walls, you are the future Countess of Hereford. Outside these walls, you are nothing. We have nothing.’

‘We could always go live with our uncle.’

Gwenore’s hand fell away. ‘And marry you off to some farmer while your brother toils in fields owned by families better off than us?’

Isabel rolled her eyes. ‘Or we could return to Maddock House. The region is improving every day.’

‘Not in the way your naive mind thinks.’

Isabel groaned audibly. ‘Do you not ever miss home sometimes?’

Gwenore pinched the bridge of her nose. ‘This is our home. The place you are mourning no longer exists.’ She looked up, exasperated. ‘It is not the home you miss. It is Ita.’

Her name aloud was too much. ‘It is both.’ The confession came out all quiet.

Gwenore looked around the room, as though searching for an appropriate response, then said, ‘Make sure Margery remains in her cage. You know how His Lordship feels about her.’ She reached out and touched Isabel’s arms briefly. ‘I shall leave you to get ready for dinner.’