Chapter 9
Nine
Dearest Sisters,
I have met the most elegant lady to ever walk the earth. (Excluding Mama, of course.) Lady Drake, the Duke of Nithesdale’s friend, has been the only visitor at Caerlaverock to acknowledgment my existence, other than the Duke’s man of affaires, Mr. Forrester, who could hardly be called a visitor. Although I believe her to only be a handful of years older than myself, she is all that I hope to be when I have my Season. Her gowns are of the most exquisite colors you could possibly imagine, with intricate beading and lace that is simply divine—I can only compare her dresses to some of the gowns Mama held onto from her Season in Town. (How I wish we still had her trunk of mementos!)
I long to meet a man of means who will allow me to have a house full of children.
I suppose we witnessed other women of elegance during our travels to Edinburgh, but again, none of those ladies seemed to share the vibrant air Lady Drake displays. I overheard the servants telling the story of her husband leaving her in dire straits upon his death. It seems she is yet another lady rescued by our dear benefactor, the Duke of Nithesdale.
Truly, there must be more men of the Ton who have such warm and open hearts that the mere hint of our illegitimacy won’t scare them away. Once I marry, I promise to send for you. I simply cannot wait until the day when the six of us can be together once more.
Your Loving Sister,
Iseabail
—A letter from Iseabail Blair to her Sisters Caillen, Máira, Ailsa, Edeen, and Robina Blair, May 1808
T he time had finally come. Nash had been ready to challenge Nithesdale to a duel for weeks when Nithesdale sent word for him that very morning. His back was healing, but every moment he spent in Iseabail’s presence was utter torture. He wanted her, and he damn well couldn’t have her.
He knocked on the bedroom door that belonged to a man he’d once admired. The oversized doors hewn of alder wood opened immediately to the vast bedroom that smelled of death. His rage disappeared. The footman on the other side of the door allowed him entry then exited the room to leave them alone. Despite everything Nithesdale had done, Nash felt a pang of loss for the only father-figure he’d known.
It shouldn’t end like this.
“I can see you are torn between throttling me and toasting a life well-lived,” the bundle on the bed rasped. It was nothing like the strong, booming voice he’d known.
Nithesdale waved toward the empty chair next to the bed and Nash made his way across the room. “You have always been perceptive.”
Nithesdale chuckled. “A blind man could read your face.”
“Or maybe you would feel the same, if you were in my shoes.”
“Mmmm, you have me there. I would probably call you out despite your inability to rise from this bed.”
“Do you deserve it?”
“Doesn’t every man deserve it at least once in his life?”
Nash thought of the kiss he’d shared with Nithesdale’s wife. “Probably,” he admitted.
“I suppose you want answers,” Nithesdale coughed, the fluid in his lungs evident with the raspy noise that seemed to never end. The deep breaths he took after the cough proved how hard he was working to have this conversation.
When his racking breaths calmed, Nash gave him a simple reply. “Yes.”
Nithesdale smiled faintly, his color more ghastly than it had been upon Nash entering the room. “I located her as you asked?—”
He could not stop his temper from spiking. “I did not ask you to take advantage of her!”
Nithesdale waved off his anger as if it was inconsequential. “Nor have I.”
“What of the rumors being bandied about in regard to you and Lady Drake with the Duchess?”
“Iseabail is my duchess. I had her brought here with the promise of a Season and found I could not give her up.”
It did not pass his notice that his friend did not answer his question. “You are her father’s age.” He argued.
“I don’t see where that is any concern of yours.” Nithesdale bit back.
“I have been looking for Iseabail and her sisters for years. Why didn’t you tell me you found them?”
“Blame it on the actions of a besotted old fool.”
A growl rumbled in his chest. “That’s not good enough.”
“Maybe not, but right now, I have to do what I think is best for the woman I love and my son.”
His son. Dear heavens, Iseabail was pregnant? “How do you know she’s with child, or that it’s a boy if she is?”
“A father knows the love in his heart. One day my son will know it as well.”
Nash snorted. “My father didn’t.”
Nithesdale’s eyes bore into his. “He did. He just couldn’t show it.”
Nash wasn’t sure if it was his words, or the sorrow filling Nithesdale’s eyes that gave him pause. “You know my real father’s identity?” It was the first time Nithesdale hinted at the knowledge. After all these years, the old bastard knew, and kept it from him. What kind of game was he playing?
Nithesdale slowly shook his head, a sad smile spreading across his lips. “If your father knew of your existence, he wouldn’t have been able to stay away. You’ve grown into a fine man. Whoever your sire, he would be lucky to know you.” He patted Nash’s hand as if he was the one who needed comforting at the time of his death. “Go. I find I can barely keep my eyes open.”
It was true. Nithesdale’s gaze was growing heavy, yet Nash paused when an unexpected tear rolled down the old man’s cheek. It was as if Nithesdale knew this would be the last time they spoke. He turned his hand over and squeezed his old friend’s hand. A lump forming in his throat.
“Promise me you will take care of my duchess. She will need a champion, and I need to know the woman I love and my son are well.”
Nash nodded. His own emotion threatening to bubble to the surface. Regardless of what had transpired with Iseabail, Nash had a hard time reconciling it with the man he loved beyond measure.
Nithesdale’s withered hand grasped his. “Promise me.”
“I promise,” he said, although he wasn’t certain he would be able to keep that promise.
Nithesdale smiled before his eyes closed and Nash sat there and stared. He was still holding Nithesdale’s hand the same way he had as a boy. The blind worship of him gone, but the love and admiration for the man still present.
And Nash wondered if he could ever live up to Nithesdale’s expectations.
* * *
A rapid pounding on the door to her library door interrupted the letter she struggled to write. She’d found the circumstances of her wedding unbearably difficult to explain in terms her young sisters would understand without destroying their romantic views of marriage.
She turned around on the damask cushioned chair and away from her elaborately carved desk. “Come in.”
The door nearly flew open as Paddington and Mrs. Hagerty stepped into the room as one. The housekeeper’s eyes were filled with tears, and the stodgy butler seemed inordinately stiff, his expression pained. It was a look she’d never registered on the man’s face the entire time she’d been at Caerlaverock.
Two previous times in her life, however, had prepared her for the awkwardness of this moment. They expected her to break. To wail. To let her emotions dictate her actions. She would not.
“I’m sorry Your Grace. I went to wake the Duke for his evening meal, but he apparently …” A sob passed Mrs. Hagerty’s lips and Paddington finished the sentence for her.
“His Grace passed in his sleep. The Duke of Ross was with him.”
She swallowed the lump in her throat. Her husband was gone. The man who had risked society’s disdain to save her … was gone.
She should have been there when he passed, not Ross. A real duchess would have been by his side. Shock took over her world and utter panic gripped at what this meant for the future. How would she save her sisters? She was not with child, she knew that with a certainty that chilled her bones.
The happiness of her sisters was at stake. Yes, she could live in the dowager house when no babe arrived in nine months and the new Duke of Nithesdale was named. She could even be content with the lonely existence her future held in the country, with no further prospects of friendships, marriage, or children. Yet still, her hands went to her empty womb as she prayed that one day, a babe would grow inside her. How that would happen now, however, was a mystery.
She was truly a ruined duchess.
Her future would be written in stone in the family plot behind Caerlaverock with the Duke, yet somehow, she still had to secure proper marriages for her sisters. Her own scandalous marriage had hit the gossip rags, Nithesdale had made sure of that. It was the only reason the Ross had called upon them. Yet not one other person of the Ton had called upon her to express congratulations for her marriage, and she suspected their sympathy over her husband’s death would be withheld as well. “Your Grace?”
She startled, so lost in her thoughts that the sight of the two servants standing in front of her waiting for a response from her caught her off guard. She stared back at them, knowing she should say—do—something.
“Y-yes?” Her voice sounded as if she had just crawled from her bed.
Paddington stepped toward her as if he might take her in his arms. Something she truly wished he’d do. Instead, a pinched look creased his lips. “Lady Drake and Mr. Forrester are waiting to see you, Your Grace.”
“Of course. Do they know what my husband would expect to be done?” she asked, unsure if she wanted the gossip columns to know of Lady Drake’s attendance at the time of Nithesdale’s death.
“Yes, Your Grace.” Paddington’s expression was locked down as tight as the grate she’d found to the ancient dungeon below the castle.
Iseabail wrung her gloved hands together but lifted her chin. “And the Duke of Ross?”
“His carriage departs as we speak.”
Of course it did. He was leaving without a word to her, and for that she only had herself to blame. She had failed to become pregnant by her husband or the only man available to her, and with that failure, she’d sealed her sisters’ fates. Yet the loss of Nithesdale suddenly made her heart want to split in two.
She steeled herself against the overwhelming thoughts of abandonment by both men. “Very well. If you could serve Mr. Forrester and Lady Drake tea in the blue salon, I will be there shortly.” Then she turned to the housekeeper and embraced the strength Nithesdale had instructed her to display. “Mrs. Hagerty, if you could have Mary dye a couple of my day dresses and one evening gown, I would be very grateful. I will also need you to send for Madame Vionnet to have mourning dresses made.”
Mrs. Hagerty sniffed and dabbed at her nose as she nodded in response. “Of course, Your Grace.”
That strength failed as she tried to think of what would come next. “Sh-should we call for … for …” Who the devil did one call at the time of death? Her father had handled her mother’s arrangements, and her father had been away from home when he’d died. She had no idea who handled anything.
“The Duke’s doctor is on his way, and the undertaker has been sent notice. Mr. Forrester is seeing to everything,” Paddington added in a gentle tone.
She nodded as a tear began to work its way down her cheek. A sob broke free from Mrs. Hagerty as if the housekeeper could no longer hold her grief at bay, and the butler put a protective arm around her as they left the room.
Iseabail nodded as if they were still waiting for her response. Her library seemed entirely too vast at that moment, the space large enough to house an army. Once again, she stood alone. The chasm between her and the rest of the world felt enormous and uncrossable. Death had taken everything from her. Her mother. Her father. Her husband. By now she should be used to the cruelty life offered, yet once again she was alone with her grief. Alone with her sense of responsibility to her sisters’ future.
She left the room and walked up the stairs to her bedroom, then stopped in front of the door to her husband’s bedchamber before pushing it open. Two maids were busy brushing her husband’s hair and straightening out the bedclothes where he lay. They looked up and froze.
“Leave us, please,” she said, as if she was there to have a chess match with Nithesdale, not say a final goodbye. They curtsied and left the room, the only noise in the room was the quiet snick of the door closing behind them.
Gone was the rasp in his chest as her husband breathed. It was a silence she thought she would welcome, but she did not. For with the silence came the realization that Nithesdale was no longer in the room with her.
In the short time she had been duchess, she had become quite familiar with the masculine elegance of his room that now seemed like a tomb. Nithesdale lay on the bed, his hands neatly clasped across his belly. He looked almost as if he were sleeping. She knew better. Not a night had gone by without the unrhythmic sound of his snoring. She missed that sound immensely.
She approached him slowly and took in the pallor of his skin. The slackness of his jaw. The vigor and vitality no longer present on his person.
“For better or worse. In sickness and in health. Til death do us part …”
Tears spilled down her cheeks unchecked. She’d been wrong. She felt many things for this man, but until that very moment, she couldn’t have put it into words. “I love you,” she whispered. Their marriage may not be what her parents had wanted for her. For that matter, it was never what she had wanted for herself, but she was one of the lucky ones. Her husband had given her hope for the future. Now she just needed to seize the opportunity and give her sisters the best chance at the happiness life had to offer—the freedom to make their own choices.
* * *
Iseabail pressed out the imaginary wrinkles in her gown with her palms, pinched her cheeks to give them color, and attempted to ascertain if the mass of russet curls stacked upon her head were still under control or not. On most days they refused to be tamed. She was certain today was no exception.
Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and made her way toward the blue salon. Her heart raced and her hands grew damp inside her gloves. Lord. She was supposed to be carrying the Duke’s heir. How was she supposed to act? Should she faint? Run from the room feigning illness? How did one pretend to be pregnant when she hadn’t the faintest idea how it felt to carry a child in her womb?
She stood in front of the door to the blue salon, experiencing the same sense of dread she’d felt when she stood outside the Duke’s chamber the day he’d announced they would be wed. She had once dreamed of a fast-paced life that caused her heart to pound as she went from ball to ball, but now …
How did one endure such repeated exposure to ruination? How did a fallen woman face the gossips?
Louis, the footman she despised, was staring at her. Waiting for a signal. If she met his gaze, like she had once or twice since her wedding, his eyes would be scanning her form. His lips would be moist, and he would make that noise …
The same foulness she had been subjected to upon her arrival at Caerlaverock. He had ever dared to stare at the Duke? Yet she knew why Louis didn’t hold her in the same regard as the other women of the Ton. Nithesdale’s actions had put her on the same level as a whore in the eyes of many. Even if she was one of the highest paid whores of the nation, to some, Iseabail was damaged goods.
She lifted her chin and nodded without meeting his gaze. The horrible noise he always greeted her with filled the silence, but she refused to meet his leer. When he finally opened the doors, Mr. Forrester rose to his feet and came to her side, just as he had on every other occasion.
“At your service, Your Grace,” he said with a gentle smile as he bowed.
Hearing Mr. Forrester address her as Your Grace made the nightmare sound so very real. “Thank you, Mr. Forrester. I must admit, I welcome a friendly face.”
His smile disappeared. “Has someone treated you poorly?”
“No, no. They have been wonderful.” She lied. Mrs. Hagerty and Paddington had worked tirelessly. The rest of the staff hadn’t been wonderful at all. Some looked at her with disdain, while others acted as if she wasn’t present. A few treated her like waste.
Mr. Forrester lowered his voice. “Do not cover for them. This is your castle now. We will replace any who do not recognize your station.” He glared at the footman in the doorway.
Iseabail could imagine she heard the man gulp before the door closed and she looked up to catch that fierce expression on Mr. Forrester’s face. His grey eyes were stormy, which looked very appealing with his dark features. Yet something had changed. Somehow, this man she had dreamed of saving her seemed quite incapable of rescuing her heart.
“Lady Drake and I wish to convey our deepest sympathy.”
She wanted to laugh. Even now, Lady Drake was everything she once wanted to be, as she dabbed at her nose with a delicate lace-edged handkerchief, her eyes filled with sympathy and unshed tears. She was beautiful.
But somehow, knowing the ugly truth of her friend’s life, she wanted to recoil from the emptiness, the hollowness that surrounded her, and the utter desolation of a widow with no purpose. Instead, she accepted the tearful embrace Lady Drake offered. She counted Lady Drake as her dear friend. How could she not, after spending her wedding night with her and Nithesdale locked behind closed doors?
She stepped back as shame began to wash over her. With their scandalous behavior known throughout the castle and town, she shouldn’t fault the footman for his disdain. Members of the Ton would be even more critical of their behavior. The gentlemen would make the same noises as Louis, and she wasn’t certain how would she ever endure it. Lady Drake’s presence at Caerlaverock had made all the gossip rags, and would no doubt start tongues wagging once again now that Nithesdale was gone.
She confessed her fear. “I no longer have the protection of Nithesdale behind me. Even from his sickbed, his presence was an embrace no one could conquer. Yet that armor disintegrated within moments of his death.” She had a sense of falling off a cliff once more. Her heart was in her throat and her legs no longer wanted to hold her.
Mr. Forrester grabbed her arm as if he thought she was going to faint. She wanted to say she wasn’t a ninny, except recently she seemed to define the term. She gave him a weak smile of gratitude as he guided her to the settee, and Lady Drake began to pour tea and serve cakes as if she were the hostess. She had served for the Duke on numerous occasions in this very room. Who was Iseabail to stop her from doing it today?
Mr. Forrester seated himself in his normal seat opposite the Duke’s chair. “What I’m about to say is completely inappropriate, but the Duke gave me strict orders to follow upon his death.” Mr. Forrester’s cheeks pinkened ever so slightly. “Is there a chance you are with child, Your Grace?”
“No.” Her voice sounded like a whisper and she prayed he heard her response. The last thing she wanted to do was repeat it.
He nodded. “Then tomorrow, we will proceed as the Duke planned.”
She was going to be ill.
“How do you propose we do that?” Iseabail asked. “Ross left.”
Mr. Forrester rubbed his chin. “Yes, things have taken a twist for the worst.”
“That’s an understatement. My husband is dead and there’s no babe in my womb. How do I save my sisters now?” She looked to Mr. Forrester for guidance.
Kind, considerate Mr. Forrester. He was just the sort of man she had always dreamed of marrying … somehow, she could no longer see him in the role of husband. Why was that? Regardless, she had to push forward. “What about you, Mr. Forrester?”
Lady Drake’s cup jingled on the saucer as the man in question choked on his tea and nearly sputtered in Iseabail’s direction. “M-me?”
She steeled her pride. “Yes, you.”
He set down his cup. “I’m afraid that’s not possible.”
“Why? If someone must get me with child, why can’t it be someone I’m fond of?”
“I-I appreciate the offer, but I can’t, Your Grace.”
Iseabail threw her hands in the air. “Why not? Men do it all the time.”
“Yes, Mr. Forrester, whyever not?” Lady Drake chimed in, as she nibbled on a biscuit like it was the most delicious thing she’d ever tasted.
“Because the Duke forbade it.”
Iseabail blinked long and hard. “Excuse me?”
He pulled on his cravat. “The Duke did not want his heir to be of lower birth.”
That didn’t sound like the Nithesdale she knew. She was a bastard and he’d made her his duchess, yet what did she know of her late husband? Up until a little over a month ago, he’d been her guardian who lived in one wing of the castle while she inhabited another. He could have been as snobbish as her father said all the members of the Ton were. Only her mother had passed muster in her father’s eyes when it came to the members of the peerage.
Hadn’t the Duke of Ross proven to her that he saw himself as superior? He was an untouchable Duke to women like her.
“That hardly sounds like Nithesdale,” Lady Drake added. “He was very fond of you.” There was something in Lady Drake’s gaze that made Iseabail think she was also very fond of Mr. Forrester. “However, we must honour his wishes.”
Iseabail stood up to pace the room. “How do you propose we do that, considering I am to be in mourning for the next year and the only gentleman who will call upon me will be Mr. Forrester?”
Again Mr. Forrester shifted uncomfortably.
“I don’t mean to distress you, Mr. Forrester, but I need to get to the heart of the matter now, rather than later. My sisters’ futures are at stake.”
Lady Drake took great care to ponder the solution. “I will return to Town and announce a house party at my country estate.” She sipped her tea as if everything was settled, despite the shroud of sadness in the room.
“How on earth will you hosting a house party solve my problem?” Iseabail asked.
“Nithesdale always said you and I could have been sisters. In the dim lighting of a bedchamber most men would believe you are me.”
“I don’t understand.” It seemed she wasn’t the only one who couldn’t make sense of Lady Drake’s statement. Mr. Forrester was eyeing her with a furrowed brow.
“It’s quite simple. I will seduce a man at the party …”
Was that a growl from Mr. Forrester?
“… and you will be waiting in his chamber to finish the act. With a low firelight, he will assume it is me waiting to be ravished.”
Iseabail blinked long and hard, her face scrunched in pain as if she’d been gutted by a sword. This was not her life. This was not her life … and yet it was exactly what she must do.