It seemed impossible that the earl had not heard, which left two alternatives, once Isobel had stifled the instinct to flee the room. She could apologise and probably dig herself even deeper in the hold or pretend that the words had never been uttered.
“My…my lord.” Even Mrs. Trimmett’s self assurance seemed shaken.” How good of you to call. May I make Mrs. Gordon known to you?” The matron had managed to utter an unconventional greeting. “ And Mrs. Jordan I believe you know.” She added as the earl moved into the room.
“Mrs. Gordon. And, Mrs. Jordan, we meet again. Are you quite recovered from your fall yesterday?” His voice was silk smooth, so bland that Isobel was suddenly doubtful that whether he had heard her faux pas after all. Willing away what she was certain must be hectic colour
