Chapter 22
Twenty-Two
My Lord Duke,
It is done.
With much gratitude,
—An unsigned letter to Nashford Xavier Harding, Duke of Ross, March 1811
I seabail was pregnant. Iseabail was pregnant.
Never before had he spilled his seed in a woman—obviously that had been a wise decision. He could have bastards scattered across the country if he had.
Or a household like Simon’s …
He smirked. Two families like the Earl of Astley’s weren’t possible, but a home with Iseabail and their child … a house full of children with Iseabail—that he could envision—and desire. For the first time in his life, he wanted one woman for eternity. Their time together had felt as if he was on the precipice of the best life he could ever live.
He folded the letter written in the same delicate hand he’d seen before. She didn’t have to sign it for him to know it was her. Then he put the letter in his desk with the other two she had written him. It was dangerous to be certain, but he couldn’t let go of the only thing he had of her. He wanted her in his life forever and he refused to give her up now—not after this.
Nash sent for his valet who appeared within moments. “Your Grace.”
“Daniel, I need you to pack.”
Daniel’s eyebrow rose. Like the rest of his household staff, his valet had never quite managed to keep his facial expression under control. It was exactly why Nash had him. His father had despised Daniel immediately. What had been an act of defiance in hiring his valet as a young man of nineteen, had turned into one of the best decisions he’d ever made. That method of hiring with the rest of his staff hadn’t failed him to date either. He didn’t want a bunch of faceless servants in his household. As a child, the family staff had been the only family he’d had, and it had somehow translated into something much more as an adult. He answered Daniel’s quizzical glance.
“We’re headed for Caerlaverock.”
Daniel grinned. “A wise decision, Your Grace.”
“Thank you, Daniel.” That little bit of approval meant more to Nash than anything the previous Duke could have possibly said. Daniel was a family man, after all. He had a wife who worked in the kitchens, and they were expecting their third child. If anyone knew how to make a relationship work, it was Daniel. Within the hour Nash was traveling across the city and headed toward the one woman who could make his life complete.
* * *
“No men are allowed in Caerlaverock, Your Grace.”
Nash looked at the two footmen barring his entrance at the bridge over the castle’s moat. “I must speak with the Duchess of Nithesdale at once.” The footman on the right who barely reached his chin was shaking. If Nash said, “Boo!” the poor man would probably run for the Highlands. The other would be a handful. He was taller and much broader than Nash, but Nash’s temper at being barred entrance was beginning to get the best of him, so the odds lay in his favor.
“We were given your name specifically, Your Grace, and told not to allow you entry.” There was a bit of pity in the man’s eyes, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t uphold the orders he’d been given.
“Bloody hell.”
The younger footman began quivering uncontrollably.
The castle door opened, and Paddington stepped out and closed the door behind him before he crossed over to where Nash stood. “Good afternoon, Your Grace. I am sorry to inconvenience you in such a manner. If you had written of your impending visit, I could have advised you that Her Grace is not accepting any visitors. However, since you are here?—”
Finally, a bit of sanity.
“—there is a room in the village that you can rest at before heading back to London.”
He looked at Paddington as if he were an ass—the kind with two ears and a tail. “I beg your pardon, Paddington?”
“It’s been a standing rule since the Duchess returned.”
Nash thought of her man of affairs, Mr. Forrester. He’d bet he didn’t have to climb the castle walls to see Iseabail. “I’m certain if you take my card, the Duchess will see me.”
Paddington nodded his head in supplication but refused the card. Nash nearly roared. He had known Paddington for years … years ! He’d thought those years were filled with loyalty and good cheer.
Apparently not.
He wanted to storm the castle with rapier drawn.
If he had a rapier, which he did not. “Are you telling me that you are allowed in the castle, the footmen are allowed in the castle, and I assumed Mr. Forrester is allowed in the castle, but Caerlaverock is closed to me?”
“No, Your Grace.”
“Good. Then step aside.”
“I mean the castle is closed to all men, Your Grace … except me.”
There was a smugness to Paddington’s expression that made Nash want to plant a facer on the man for the first time in his life. “Who carries the wood inside for the fireplaces, who carries the water for the Duchess’s bath? Who in God’s name secures the residence?”
“Her Grace has been very creative since her return.”
Nash crossed his arms and waited. “Explain.”
“Once a day, the lads load a sleigh of wood and the maids drag the sleigh into the great hall. From there it is hauled up to the second and third floors by dumbwaiters.” Paddington seemed quite proud of the process.
“I don’t recall any dumbwaiters in the great hall.” Because there hadn’t been any.
“Those were installed the day after her return. Her Grace did not want the maids to be overly burdened.”
“I see. Yet that must be exhausting work for them.”
“Her Grace has hired more maids.” Before Nash could ask about the footmen, Paddington continued. “The men are housed in the dowager house for the time being, and those who wished to move on were handsomely rewarded with severances and references or a pension. Others are being loaned out to neighboring estates until after the babe is born. Begging your pardon, Your Grace.”
Paddington blushed as if talking about Nash’s child being born was something he didn’t want to hear. It was all he wanted to hear about, dammit! That and Iseabail’s health.
Yet to everyone in this household Iseabail wasn’t his and the baby wasn’t his either … they were Nithesdale’s. Bloody hell.
“When does she meet with Mr. Forrester?”
“All communications with Mr. Forrester are done through Lady Drake.”
Nash unfolded his arms. That did not seem like something Iseabail or Nithesdale would deem appropriate. Nithesdale had always had his hands in estate affairs. Nash had learned everything he knew from him. “And the Duchess trusts them with estate business?”
“Explicitly. She is learning the estate business and goes over the books on a weekly basis.”
Well, at least there was that. “Why won’t she allow men in residence?”
“It is not my place to gossip, Your Grace.”
Now he’d had enough. There was so much gossip in town about Iseabail that it had to be coming from somewhere inside the castle. “Paddington, in all the years you’ve known me, have I ever impressed you as the type of man to gossip?”
The servant looked shocked and immediately replied. “Of course not, Your Grace. I did not mean to imply?—”
“I know you didn’t, but I am concerned for the Duchess. She needs a friend within the Ton, does she not?”
As if finally understanding his meaning, Paddington agreed. “Any help with her reputation would be greatly appreciated.”
“So, tell me why every man has been cast out.”
Paddington looked at the footmen who, with a nod from the butler, disappeared across the courtyard. Finally, Paddington reluctantly told the tale no one else had. “The last time he was in town, the Duke’s heir, Mr. Jarvis, spread some nasty rumors about Her Grace allowing all sorts of men into her bed to ensure she became pregnant.”
Nash had also heard some of this at his club, but knew it to be gossip from before he’d had his discussion with Jarvis. It was the ridiculous chatter of the bored, looking for entertainment to divert themselves.
“Her Grace drew the attention of one footman who had somehow gone undetected for the reprobate that he was.”
Nash’s hands turned to fists at his side. “Louis. I heard about him. I thought he had been dealt with.” If Paddington had not dealt with the man, Nash would.
“Yes, the man in question was dismissed after the Duke died. Néill, the young lad you made shake in his boots, heard him bragging that he would be coming into a bunch of money once the true Duke inherited. He reported it to me, and the Duchess had me fire him. Except Louis was somehow able to sneak back into the castle after the Duchess returned from Drake Manor. He has since been deported.”
Nash ground his teeth. “I wasn’t aware of any incident.”
Paddington nodded. “That is good to hear. Since that morn, no men have been allowed to enter the castle, except me.”
If Paddington had been avoiding his gaze before, now he stood up tall and addressed Nash, man to man, not servant to Duke. “Had I known his true nature, he would have been dismissed from Caerlaverock years ago. I assure you, he is no longer in the Duchess’s employ or a threat to her.”
Nash wanted to deal with the blackguard himself, but the man being transported was probably better than Nash being connected to murder. “I need to speak with her.” He wasn’t quite pleading, but his tone took on a more beseeching quality than the arrogance of his station.
“If you would look up to my right, Your Grace?” Paddington looked over his right shoulder and Nash followed his gaze to the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen.
Iseabail.
She stood in the top window of the turret, gazing down at him. Her long hair fell over one shoulder and she was wearing a conservative navy-blue day dress that was like nothing he had seen her wear since the first day he saw her at Caerlaverock. Her expression was one he could only describe as blissfully sad, as her hand rubbed her midsection. She reached up to gently touch the glass. It was as if she couldn’t believe she was truly witnessing him being barred entry into her cell—a prison of her own making.
For a moment he could have sworn a tear fell down her cheek … but then she walked away. The woman he loved walked away. Without looking back. He wanted to bellow her name. Yell loud enough for the entire countryside to hear him declare his love for her, but she simply walked away.
“I’m sorry, Your Grace.” Paddington’s voice shattered what little hope he’d held. Even the servants knew she was moving forward without him. It was humbling, to say the least. If his heart weren’t shredded in tatters, his ego certainly would have been. As it was, he honestly didn’t care if the staff pitied him.
“Congratulate the Duchess for me. I heard she is expecting the new heir of Nithesdale.” Nash turned and walked toward the carriage, leaving behind everything he never thought he wanted, but now wanted more than ever.
* * *
“He’s gone.”
“Good.” She rubbed her stomach feeling anything but good. His baby was torturing her body. Every morning she woke up to an even worse bout of morning sickness than the last. And everyone said that was a good thing—everyone but her.
“Don’t you think?—”
“No.”
“You don’t even know what I was going to say.” Phoebe’s voice was filled with compassion, but her words spoke of her impatience.
“You were going to plead his case as you have done every day since we arrived. Enough.”
“Iseabail—”
She didn’t wait for Phoebe to continue, she walked out of her chamber. “I’m going to the nursery where the views are more serene.” Where she couldn’t see the one visitor she wanted to see but shouldn’t. “Besides if I continue to look out that window, Ross will just get angrier. As it is, he looked angry enough to break through every guard I posted at the entrance.”
Phoebe followed close on her heels. “I disagree. His Grace looked vulnerable. He was staring up at you with such longing in his eyes that I have no doubt he loves you.”
She wanted to believe she’d seen the same thing in his eyes. She shook her head in disgust as she entered the nursery. “If you believe that, then I have a story to tell you about Highland fairies.”
She approached the window and let her gaze fall upon the trees and the wetlands beyond that led to the seas, and confessed her true desires. “I dreamt of a son with dark locks like his father’s and his grandfather’s, running through the woods chasing imaginary dragons back to the sea. I wish his father could be there with him, using sticks as swords in a pretend battle for the ages. Father and son battling the beast to set me free.”
“That can all come true.”
“No. It’s utter rubbish. I don’t need saving. I’m the only dragon slayer my child will ever need.” She turned to look at her friend, an angry tear sliding down her cheek. “Not the servants. Not Nithesdale. Not Nash. Me. As God as my witness, I will slay any dragon, demon, or blackguard who dares to threaten my child.”
“I understand your reluctance to trust?—”
“Nithesdale gave me the opportunity to save myself and my sisters with our honour intact. It’s up to me to seize that opportunity and raise our child.” Not six children with the man she loved, but one beautiful child she would love to her dying day. She truly didn’t need anything more than that.
And yet her heart ached for more.
“No one will challenge a duchess.”
Iseabail rolled her eyes. “You are quite wrong about that, Phoebe. I am already a duchess and I am questioned at every turn. Now, stop following me.”
“Someone needs to knock some sense into your head.”
“I’m fine.”
“Not anymore.”
“Phoebe, I am well aware of Mr. Jarvis waiting in the wings to pounce on the duchy, and only a blind person would have missed the disdain for me from the guests at your house party.”
“You have the loyalty of the staff,” she argued.
“That has been reduced dramatically, thanks to Mr. Jarvis’s meddling.” To think how close she’d come to missing out on the joy of the child in her belly. To missing out on Nash … yet he was just a memory now. One she would cherish for the rest of her life. “I am giving birth to Nithesdale’s heir. I will be here, at Caerlaverock, for our child. The Duke of Ross will have to find his own duchess in London.”
Phoebe sighed and left the room. It was only a matter of time before she abandoned Iseabail as well. Like her husband before her, Iseabail would remain at Caerlaverock—alone—while the person who had captured her heart slept in another’s bed.
He was truly gone.