Chapter 4
Four
Lord Duke,
The trap has been set. The poor man was nearly gaunt with fury. I am afraid he is most displeased with your duplicity involving the Blair girls. I hope you know what you are about and that our young Iseabail does not suffer for our actions. If Nash has not arrived prior to my missive, I would expect him to arrive shortly after.
Despite your wicked scheme, you truly are the best of men. I am eternally grateful for your care of the children, since I am hardly a suitable guardian. I will not deny how difficult this role was for me to play, but to my shock and possibly his, I was rather scandalous.
I hope and pray your health improves and that I may see you again with a young and vibrant duchess at your side.
Yours,
Phoebe
—A letter from Lady Phoebe Drake to Edward Hancock, Duke of Nithesdale, December 1810
P addington stood at the doorway to the grand parlor she’d acquired upon her marriage two weeks earlier, with a stoicism she couldn’t fathom. Before her marriage ceremony, the butler had treated her like a grandchild. Now it was as if she were a stranger in this giant house that had somehow become hers—for the next nine months. What happened after that, she hadn’t begun to figure out.
“A carriage approaches, Your Grace.”
Your Grace . She would never get used to hearing that title, nor did she know how she would carry out His Grace’s ridiculous scheme to get with child. No one, let alone an eligible man, would visit her or give her the time of day.
“Is it Mr. Forrester?” she asked, focusing on tying off the thread to her needlework.
“No, Your Grace. He has been with the Duke most of the morning. The coach appears to have a seal on the door.”
“A seal?” She set her needlework down and looked out the window. “Were we expecting anyone?”
“No, Your Grace.”
In a matter of days her entire world had been turned upside down. Iseabail had a parlor in a part of the castle she’d rarely visited prior to her marriage. Her rooms now adjoined the Duke’s bedchamber, not the nursery, so when she did sleep, she could actually hear her husband snore.
Her husband … who was old enough to be her parent.
“Your Grace?”
She looked up at Paddington and his features softened. The faint hint of sympathy evident in his gaze.
“Whoever it may be, they have undoubtedly traveled for several days. Take them to the drawing room and I will greet them shortly … and if you could have Mrs. Hagerty prepare tea?”
Paddington nodded in approval then winked, thoroughly warming her heart. There was still affection between them after all. She returned the gesture and put down her embroidery, a sense of confidence she hadn’t felt moments ago now restored.
It was little over a sennight since Lady Drake had departed and the house had seemed empty ever since. She and Lady Drake hadn’t conversed much during their time together, but she knew Lady Drake could be trusted despite how uncomfortable Iseabail made the widow. Perhaps it was her inexperience or the fact that they were … were … well, their relationship would distress most of the Ton.
Mr. Forrester strode into the parlor wearing his ever-present smile. “Your Grace, you look lovely today.” Despite being the person who took her away from her sisters, Mr. Forrester was the one person with whom she found herself most at ease. On that initial trip to Caerlaverock, as today, he had a calming demeanor. For years she’d dreamed of him taking her away from this strange place. He hadn’t, yet he had returned every month to apprise the Duke of his many financial endeavors, and each visit he made time to update her on her sisters and pick up packages she wanted to send them.
“Thank you, Mr. Forrester. How was your conversation with the Duke this morning?”
“Your husband’s mind is alert and well. It is his body that concerns me. His breathing is quite labored this morning.” His smile was sad, but accepting of his employer’s fate.
She nodded because she knew it was true. His night had been plagued with fitful coughing spells. “Did you have much to discuss?”
“Yes, he wanted to make sure all his affairs were in order. He is determined for his estates and business ventures to remain healthy for his son—” he paused, as if realizing just whom exactly he was speaking to, and cleared his throat. “Or daughter … well past adolescence, and of course, he wants to ensure you are well cared for as well.”
She fidgeted in her seat. “I would like to speak to you about that as well. I need to know his plans for my sisters and me …” Her face heated at the topic. “If I do not … do not …”
A commotion in the great hall prevented her from continuing. Voices rose and glass shattered. Mr. Forrester immediately turned toward the disturbance. In her youth, Iseabail would have fancied the castle under attack. Now, she suspected a drunken old crony of the Duke’s had come to pay his respects to a dying friend.
“Where is she?” A man bellowed throughout the hall. “I don’t give a bloody damn if Nithesdale is dying at this very moment, I want to see Iseabail Blair. Now!”
Dear Lord. Who could possibly be seeking her, and by her father’s name? No one had used that name in the past eight years. Iseabail jumped to her feet, letting her needlepoint drop to the floor in her haste and approached the disturbance just as Mr. Forrester took matters into hand.
“My good sir. Please calm yourself, and we may discuss what seems to be the problem in the privacy of—” Mr. Forrester’s breath caught.
Iseabail couldn’t see the man’s face, but he was broader and taller than Mr. Forrester, and his hair was as unkempt as a beggar in the village. He must have been well into his cups when he’d decided to travel to Caerlaverock, since it wasn’t even midday, and the attire he was wearing appeared to have been worn for several days straight. She had no desire to approach the man who took no pride in his appearance and barked at Paddington as if it was his given right to order about the servants in the Hancock keep. It wasn’t as if he was the King Regent himself. It was best she let Mr. Forrester see what this particular madman was about.
No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than the man pushed past Forrester, only to come to a complete stop when his gaze landed on her. Mr. Forrester recovered from the affront when he realized she had followed him from the drawing room.
“Your Grace, I must apologize for the disruption. Are you acquainted with?—”
If Mr. Forrester identified the stranger in front of her, she didn’t hear his name because his presence assaulted her soul. He did not belong in middle of the great hall with her broken vase of lilies.
Her hands balled into fists. Her breathing went from mildly affected, to nothing passing through her lungs at all. He was older, but just as coldly handsome as she remembered. Black hair glistening like the dark abyss, with eyes the color of a stormy sea. He appeared much larger than he had, which was an oddity in and of itself. Most things she’d remembered as being large in childhood, were smaller as an adult. It was definitely not the case with the man responsible for having evicted her and her sisters from their home. The same man who’d named her and her sisters bastards.
Her temper flared like it had not in years. Not since she was forcibly removed from her home like a sack of rotten potatoes that smelled too foul to serve to the pigs. This man dared to enter her home and demand to see her?
He must be mad.
Her lip curled and her eyes narrowed as her balled fists clenched and unclenched at her sides. “You dare to come into my home and demand to see me,” she seethed. Her chest rose as if she had just run down the hill, through the gates, across the bridge, and over the moat to defend her castle.
“So, it’s true.” He looked at her with what appeared to be pity.
She would not be pitied by the likes of him. “What’s true?” She demanded.
“He made you his whore.”
The words slapped her face as hard as any strike, and she took a step back. Mr. Forrester growled. The footmen stepped forward to stop the violence ready to explode. Paddington was opening the door as if to allow the Duke of Ross to be thrown out on his arse. It would serve him right to receive the same treatment he’d dealt six young orphans. The man could rot if he thought she would stop the servants from dumping him in the moat. “Get?—”
“Your Grace, pardon our intrusion. We have come to see Nithesdale. Is he well?” Everyone froze. Lady Drake stepped out from behind the Duke of Ross, her gown rumpled from travel, her features as beautiful as ever. They may look like sisters, but Lady Drake carried herself with a born assurance Iseabail did not. Lady Drake commanded the room as if she were the lady of the castle, dressed in an elegant confection of claret red silk, hugging her form in all the right places. Her skirts swished, and every man in the room stared at her as if she were the Madonna herself.
Well, if not the Madonna, perhaps Aphrodite was a better comparison. Both images would cause men to drop at her feet, one in reverence, the other in lust.
Ross was the first to recover. He shrugged the tight muscles of his shoulders and held his arm out for Lady Drake to take. “Lady Drake, please forgive my rude remarks.”
Lady Drake laid her fingertips on his forearm, their manner as formal as if they had arrived at a ball, and Iseabail couldn’t help but wonder why he would afford Nithesdale’s mistress such respect while he called her a whore.
Iseabail stiffened her spine. “I am the Duchess of Nithesdale. Not Lady Drake, and this is my castle.”
“Actually, it belongs to Nithesdale.” His voice held the smug tone of a born duke.
She wanted to scratch his eyes out. “Your Grace, since you seem unable to address me as my station dictates, perhaps you should take your leave.”
“On the contrary, I came to see your husband.” He began leading Lady Drake into her drawing room.
Iseabail looked to Mr. Forrester for guidance, but for once the man looked as lost as she was, and she asked the one question that had plagued her for years. “Did my father do something to you that would cause you to judge me so harshly?”
Her question stopped Ross in his tracks, but he didn’t turn to address her. Instead, he looked down at Lady Drake as if he were explaining himself to her. “He owed a debt.”
Iseabail snorted. Actually snorted in the presence of a duke and countless others. Lady Drake flinched, but Iseabail refused to let the matter drop. “A debt of one hundred pounds?” She walked in front of him and forced him to look at her, not Lady Drake. “Surely the hundred pound note you held of my father’s was not the reason you evicted six children. I could pay the debt today, if you’ll allow me to buy back my home.”
“Urquhart Castle?” He searched her eyes as if he was looking for signs of madness.
Perhaps she was mad, but she couldn’t forget all the things he’d said about her home. He found the rugs, the walls, and the roof to be lacking—and they had been, but to her, they reflected the better times of her youth. The stains of crushed berries on the marble floors from little Robina’s attempts to make the perfect wine were priceless, yet he didn’t even remember the Scottish castle that belonged to six young girls.
“Are we talking about the estate where children painted on the walls?” He asked.
He wasn’t even certain of which estate she spoke of. “The painting on the wall was done by my sister Ailsa. It is her interpretation of The Falls of Clyde by Scottish artist Jacob More.” She was proud of the way she controlled her speech while her heart pounded to the rhythm of his death march.
He looked perplexed. “Really? I remember scribbles.”
“Ailsa’s version is through the artistic vision of a child . My parents loved that painting.” She would never admit to her own criticism years earlier. All that mattered was that their parents had praised her sister’s talent as if she were a prodigy of the artist himself, and the servants had been forbidden from cleaning it off the walls.
“Sorry, I did not.” His apology held no sincerity, but perhaps the slightest bit of guilt?
She gasped. “You didn’t.” His continued gaze gave nothing away, yet she knew what he had done without him saying it. “You destroyed it, didn’t you?”
For the first time Lady Drake looked at him as if he had done something inconceivable, and it was her reaction, not Iseabail’s, that forced his defensive confession.
“I haven’t been back to Urquhart Castle since that day.”
“You haven’t been back?” Lady Drake’s voice sounded as incredulous as Iseabail’s was. The two of them asked the same question in unison.
Every tear in the carpet, every mark on the furniture spoke of her childhood. It had been the only home she’d ever known. She loved Urquhart Castle … and it had gone untouched for eight years.
She strangled the snarl rising in her throat. If he had no use for her family home, he’d probably allowed it to go into more disrepair in the years hence. She could live there once again. She could have Mr. Forrester bring her sisters home, and perhaps he would want to join them …
She gazed at the solicitor, who didn’t seem to know if he should throw the Duke out or pour him a drink. If it was left up to Lady Drake, they would be sitting down for dinner.
Dear Lord, she wouldn’t?—
Iseabail bit out a command. “I want him gone.”
Lady Drake laughed, her hips swaying as they turned for the drawing room. “She jests, of course. Nithesdale would be furious if she were to close the doors on you like rubble. Please, Your Grace, won’t you send for tea?”
“Tea? You want me to serve this … this miscreant tea?” She was dumbfounded. Granted she wasn’t necessarily acting like a duchess, but nor had the Duke of Ross acted like one of the highest peers of the realm when he’d stormed her castle and called her a whore.
“Of course, darling. We have traveled a great distance. Tea is the least you can offer while the maids prepare our rooms.”
Iseabail stood in shock as Lady Drake and the Duke of Ross walked into the drawing room where she had originally planned to serve her guests.
Except he was not a guest! He was a beast who didn’t deserve her time, or her tea. Her knees began to tremble and she found she could hardly stand. She was grateful when Mr. Forrester approached her and held out his arm for her to take.
“Why would she bring that man here and allow him to get away with saying that to me?”
“I cannot speak for Lady Drake. I can say that your husband is quite fond of him.” Mr. Forrester’s expression showed his concern and his sympathy. “However, I must tell you that I plan on demanding an apology as soon as we enter the drawing room.”
“No,” she blurted before she could even consider what Mr. Forrester was suggesting. “If he is a friend to my husband, then I must determine what he has heard and why he is here demanding to see me. How did he even know I was here?”
Mr. Forrester shook his head. “I do not know.”
Iseabail took a deep, steadying breath. “Then I guess it is time to find out exactly what Ross thinks he knows and what he has heard.”
“That would be the wisest course of action.” He smiled down upon her. “I would ask one small favor.”
The request took her aback. “Of course.”
“If he utters one more disparaging word, do I have your permission to throw him out the window?”
She grinned. “I will open the window above the moat myself.”