Chapter 24
Twenty-Four
A Wedding to Anticipate
Dearest Reader,
It seems the Ton has not one diamond of the ball, but three sought-after Sisters of the Season. The gentlemen have been seen tripping over themselves to get a slot on the dance cards of the beautiful sisters B. The Dowager Duchess of R is sponsoring the young ladies in what is deemed to be the most talked-about Season in ages. The Duke of R has been seen escorting the sisters to all the most important affairs, guaranteeing a certain amount of attention from those vying for his favor. It is said the ladies are keeping the Duke quite busy with callers, all of which he watches like a hawk.
I must warn you, however, Young Lady A may not have much time left on the marriage mart, for she has been seen on the Duke’s arm for more dances than this author can say. Could there be a new duchess very soon in the realm?
And what of Lady C? She has missed the last three balls and has not been seen in any of the bookshops she frequents. Where has this young lady disappeared? This author must further ask, what has happened to our scandalous earl? Could his disappearance be linked to hers?
—The Whispers of the Ton, London, published 16th of January 1812
I seabail was going to kill him … if his child didn’t kill her first.
She tossed the scandal rag aside and gazed down at their beautiful son. Nash would certainly take affront to her calling his son beautiful, but he was. Edward Xavier Blair Hancock, seventh Duke of Nithesdale, who should be the eighth Duke of Nithesdale, was the most precious child she had ever seen. He had his father’s eyes, and his grandfather’s gentle smile. His father’s temper and his grandfather’s laughter. But most of all, he had her love—like both men, because without them, she wouldn’t have Xavier. He was the reason she woke up in the morning and the reason she laid down her head at night.
“You really need to hire a wet-nurse.”
Iseabail laughed at Phoebe who was staring at her wild, unkempt hair as if it contained bugs. “I wouldn’t pass this time up with him for anything.”
“Fine. Then let the nursemaid take care of him long enough to bathe.”
“I assure you, I have bathed.”
Her friend muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “You couldn’t tell by looking at you.”
“My gown is clean as well as my body and hair. All my son requires of me he has, and more,” she said in a hushed tone, as she laid the baby down in his bed.
Phoebe was right behind her, grabbing her by the back of her arms and dragging her to the wardrobe. “Look in the mirror, Iseabail.” She gazed at her reflection in the mirror with Phoebe. “You are in dire need of a brush and you have dark circles on top of bags under your eyes. Your cheeks are hollowed and your shoulders are slumped. You are hardly the young woman who captured the attention of a duke at my house party.”
“I am a mother now. My son needs me, and if that means I must sacrifice my appearance, I will.” She grabbed her brush and began brushing out her locks just to prove to Phoebe that she didn’t let herself go completely. It was after all, only noon. By all of society’s standards she should just be rising from her bed.
“Fine. What are you going to do about that?” She pointed accusingly at the scandal sheet on her bed.
“Nothing.” She pulled harder on the tangle that didn’t want to release her brush. It was as bad as Nash was on her heart. Wrapping around it and refusing to free her from his hold. “You’re going to let him court Ailsa?”
“That’s merely a rumor.” The tangle gave under the pressure, and she nearly struck herself in the jaw.
“I have received word that the rumors are true.” Despite how softly her tone delivered the blow, it still hit its mark right between her third and fifth rib. She didn’t know where Phoebe got her information, and she really didn’t want to know because most of the time the intelligence was spot-on.
She closed her eyes and swallowed down the bile threatening to choke the life out of her, then lied through her teeth. “If it’s true, I wish them all the happiness in the world.”
“You wouldn’t mind Ailsa having a child by the same man you do?”
Yes, blast it! “No.”
Phoebe took the brush she no longer realized she held and began gently stroking it through the length of her hair. “Don’t you wish for Ailsa to have a man who loves her for the woman she is, not the woman he reminds her of?”
Iseabail stared at Phoebe in the mirror, but her friend ignored her glare and watched each stroke of the brush. “What are you saying?”
Phoebe finally met her gaze. “I’m saying Ailsa reminds him of you, and right now your sister is blissfully unaware of him being the father of your child, but if it came to light …”
Iseabail grabbed the brush and slammed it down on her dressing table. The tone of her voice echoing the vehement denial of her words. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, and you will never disparage my son’s birthright again.”
Phoebe shrugged. “As you wish, but I, for one, would not want to play second violin to my sister.”
“You don’t have a sister.”
Phoebe ignored the biting tone of her words and smiled. “True, but that doesn’t mean I would want a man whose heart belonged to her. I couldn’t bear it, nor could she.” Phoebe left the room without another word as Iseabail’s anger fueled to a boil.
She picked up her abandoned hairbrush and flung it at the closed door, taking no amount of pleasure from it ricocheting off the wood and clattering across the floor.
Xavier wailed, and Iseabail found herself taking three deep breaths before she walked over and picked up her son. “Shhhhh, darling. It’s okay. Mommy’s here. Everything is okay.” She rocked her son in her arms, walking around the room, holding him tight. As Xavier calmed and began to fall asleep in her arms, Iseabail made her decision. “I think it’s time for a reunion. Tomorrow we will travel to London for you meet your aunts.”
* * *
Nash entered his home to the sounds of women giggling and cooing. Cooing?
The giggling was normal. He’d learned to tune it out as he stealthily entered his home without making a noise. Even the servants had begun to assist him. Mansfield was extremely adept to opening the door with his finger across his lips, alerting him to the ladies’ presence. The footmen never asked to take his hat and coat, they silently held out their hands and nodded with a conspiratorial wink. Today, his butler was decidedly absent, and he had to open the door himself as the footmen were nowhere to be seen.
It was the cooing and then some ridiculous gibberish that sent his heart galloping through the entry and into the drawing room.
He didn’t immediately follow it. Too afraid he was jumping to conclusions, he slowly removed his hat and coat and laid them on the entry table. Then he took two deep breaths, wet his lips, and marched through the doors with the command of a duke. When he entered the room, his exterior persona portrayed nothing of his inner anxiety. He held his head high and slowly perused the room. Trying not to let his heart leap from his chest because the neighbor had brought her nephew over for the girls to admire.
The cooing stopped before he could locate the imaginary neighbor amid the sisters and servants and his mother and Lady Drake and?—
Iseabail.
He blinked. Cleared dry eyes that had taken too long straining and staring at every other woman in the room before finally finding her— more beautiful than he remembered. Her eyes were haloed with the fatigue of a new mother, a slight stain marred the bodice of her travel-worn gown, and her face and figure were slightly fuller than the last time he’d laid eyes upon her. He wouldn’t have noticed any of it if he hadn’t been cataloging every inch of her while trying to convince himself she was real.
Iseabail was here. Here. In his drawing room. Holding a baby. His baby.
He swallowed, an audible gulp unbecoming a duke escaped his person, but he didn’t give a damn. Mansfield cleared the room of servants with a nod of his head, and then it was his mother’s turn to get rid of the rest.
“Ladies, we have a ball to prepare for.”
One of the girls, he wasn’t certain which, began to object. “But Iseabail is here?—”
“And she will be here tomorrow and the next day and the next,” his mother interrupted as she herded the girls out of the room better than any sheep dog could have possibly accomplished. The door handle clicked and they were alone.
“Is—is—” He sounded like a babe learning to talk. The words unable to form, his voice lost somewhere in his throat.
“This is your son, Edward Xavier Blair Hancock, seventh Duke of Nithesdale. I call him Xavier.”
He would have argued about their son’s title, but she’d somehow included his name, his real father’s name, and her father’s name in one perfect bundle. The glorious smile on her face captivated him as he slowly walked closer. Afraid to disturb the babe, who stared at her with as much adoration in his eyes as his father’s.
And then his son looked over and met his gaze. It was the most wondrous moment of his life. It was as if Xavier knew with that one look, exactly who his father was. The bond was like nothing he’d ever felt, but it wasn’t just with his son, it was the connection between the three of them. Strong and unbreakable. He would gladly give up his life for this woman and their child, yet he would much rather share a future with them.
Iseabail slid over on the settee and then patted the cushion next to her. She balanced their son in one arm as if she had done such a thing her entire life. Perhaps she had with her sisters. “If you want to hold him, I think you should sit.”
He met her gaze, shocked that she would agree so easily. “What if I drop him?”
“You won’t.”
“But if I do?”
“I’ll be here to catch him.”
Nash sat down next to her, amazed that he could be so close, and not want to ravish her. If he was being honest, he did want to bed her then and there, but their son … how could any man pass up the opportunity to hold his son?
He sat down and held out his hands awkwardly.
“Relax. Sit back and I will place him in your arms.”
Nash did as he was told. Iseabail after all was his child’s mother and had been caring for him … for how long? Before he could ask, she placed the small bundle in his arms, and dark brown eyes full of so much wisdom peered back at him. “He’s beautiful.”
“He looks just like his father.”
A tear rolled down his cheek, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t ashamed of his emotions. How could he possibly hold so much joy and love inside him without it seeping out at the seams?
Xavier smiled, the dimpled grin every sane person would adore. “The papers said he was born in November. Is that true?” His son fisted his thumb in the most glorious show of strength he’d ever witnessed.
“No,” she whispered. “December seventh, the same day as his grandfather. It’s as if Nithesdale blessed us twice over with a reason to celebrate the day our son was born.” He looked up at her to see the same wonder in her eyes as he felt.
“You knew that Nithesdale was my father?”
“I learned of it before you came to Caerlaverock. I owed it to Nithesdale to see the estate remain in his family where it belonged—where it would be kept safe.”
“That’s why you refused me?”
Her smile was a bit sad, yet he could tell she was content with her decision. He loved her all the more for it.
“Yes.” She cleared her throat. “When did you learn? From the letter Nithesdale wrote me and from what Mr. Forrester has told me, the two of them believed you didn’t know.”
“When the announcement hit the newspaper of Xavier’s birth, my mother told me. It was as if my life suddenly made sense.”
“I see, and now that you know exactly who you are, do you plan to wed?”
Xavier stirred in his arms, his tiny face scrunching up like he’d had a bite of something distasteful, and he grunted. “Yes, I do.”
“Do you have the young lady in mind?”
His son’s face began to redden. “Is something wrong with him?” God don’t let anything happen to his son.
“I believe he is soiling his diaper.” Her tone sounded irritated, which made him wonder if he’d misunderstood.
“He’s what?” The sound that emanated from his son was unmistakable. The feel of his backside against Nash’s arm even more telling. “Oh.”
“I’ll call for his nursemaid.” She was up and pulling the servants’ bellpull before Nash even knew what was going on. There were parts of parenthood he could do without, and when the maid walked in and took the baby from his arms, he was more than happy to give him up for a little while. Yet at the same time, as he watched his son leave the room, he wanted him back. He could see himself growing accustomed to caring for his children in every sense of the word. Just not today, when the unwelcome smell of bodily functions would interrupt the very important task he had at hand.
He watched as the nursemaid left the room, the door closing behind her.
“Are you courting my sister?”
The question caught him off guard. He should have expected it, of course. The scandal sheets had hinted at it. He and her sister had planned it at his mother’s urging. All to get Iseabail here, but he’d honestly never thought it would work. How could she not know where his heart lay? Yet she stood very still, her back turned toward him, waiting for him to answer.
“No.” He watched her shoulders rise and fall as if she took a breath of relief before she returned to the settee and sat down in front of the tea service. She poured two cups, her hands slightly shaking as she put two lumps of sugar in her cup and left his plain. All the while he watched her every move, mesmerized by her grace even when she was obviously uncomfortable.
“Then, why?” She handed him his cup of tea.
“Why what?”
Her nose twitched as she covered the corner of her mouth with her cup, hiding the smile threatening to form. “Why are you escorting Ailsa to all of the balls?”
“I’ve been escorting all of your sisters—well, the older sisters.”
“Including Caillen?”
He knew that question would come. He’d just wished it had come later. “No.”
“No? Where is she?”
“I don’t know,” he said honestly. He had not heard from Simon, nor had he heard from Griffith demanding her dowry. He had expected one or the other a fortnight ago.
“What do you mean? My sisters have been in your care for months.” The panic in her voice was undeniable, and understandable.
“I turned down her suitor’s offer of marriage. They disappeared later that night. She left a letter under the covers in her bed. Robina found it the next morning after she failed to come down for breakfast.” He pulled out the letter for his jacket pocket. The letter he kept on his person, lest it fall into the wrong hands.
Iseabail unfolded the letter and read it. When she was done, she handed it back to him and closed her eyes. “Either way, she’s ruined.”
“I won’t let that happen.”
“You can’t stop it. You can’t stop her, and you certainly can’t stop the gossip. The scandal sheets have made certain that everyone is looking for her. Neighbors will have their servants questioning your servants.”
“My servants are very loyal.”
She snorted an indelicate noise. “Not all servants are as loyal as they appear.”
“You’re speaking from experience.” It wasn’t a question. He didn’t know exactly what she had gone through, maybe it was best he didn’t know. He might have to take a trip across the ocean to kill the man.
Iseabail smiled. It wasn’t coy or secretive, merely what was in the past, would stay in the past. Without her ability to let go of the past, he wouldn’t stand a chance. His sins against her and her sisters were far greater than anyone else.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and truly meant it.
The puzzled expression on her face brought him to his knees in front of her on the settee. He reached for her hand and pleaded in a manner he never had in his life. “I did you and your sisters a major disservice. I tried to find you, but you’d vanished into thin air.”
Her smile once again said it all. She didn’t care. How someone could have such a forgiving heart, he couldn’t imagine—until she spoke.
“I am a duchess with the most beautiful son in the world. Where would I be, if you had allowed my sisters and me to stay at Urquhart? I would be a bastard spinster, shunned by society with no prospects of children. Your mother is sponsoring my sisters, and if worse comes to worse, Caillen can live with me at Caerlaverock.”
“I was hoping that you would live here. With me. As my duchess.”
She froze. It was as if she’d never thought of such a thing.
“Is it possible you don’t know? I followed you to Caerlaverock. Tried to win you over with letter after letter. How can you not believe I want more? I want you.”
“Are you offering for me, Your Grace?”
“I am, Your Grace.”
“But Xavier?—”
“Our son is the Duke of Nithesdale, and he will remain as such. I will not take away what is rightfully his. Our next son, however, will be the Duke of Ross.”
“And if it’s a girl?”
“Then she will inherit Urquhart, I will make sure of it. Our children will not be robbed of what is rightfully theirs.” Her smile grew and he asked again. “Will you marry me, Iseabail? I love you. I want to be with you, I want to grow old with you.”
A tear slipped down her cheek, and before she could finish uttering the word “Yes,” she was in his arms. His lips pressed to hers and the passion that had always been between them ignited.
He swooped her in his arms and carried her across the room. Throwing the door open, he nearly fell over his mother and her sisters, but not for a second did he stop kissing her.
Her sisters giggled. His mother gasped. “Nashford Xavier Harding!”
Iseabail laughed against his lips.
“I believe you’ve already met the next Duchess of Ross, Mother. Please don’t be scandalized.” Her sisters giggled some more as he took long strides toward the steps.
“Girls!” His mother said, but by now he knew her sisters wouldn’t be corralled any easier than Iseabail. They would watch their ascent until he kicked his bedroom door closed behind them. “Ross!” His mother tried again. “You will ruin her!”
“He ruined me long ago, Your Grace.” Iseabail smiled. “And I love him.”
“But … but the banns! We must have the banns read. What if The Whispers of the Ton gets word of this?” His mother sounded nearly panicked.
He probably should listen to her. He turned at the top of the steps and with every ounce of ducal authority he possessed, said, “Iseabail Blair Hancock has agreed to become my duchess. The honourable departed Duke of Nithesdale would have wanted his son raised in a loving family, and Iseabail and I plan to raise him to be just like his father and his grandfather. I will procure a special license, Mother, and to hell with the scandal sheets.” He bowed slightly. “Ladies, if you will excuse us. What happens now is entirely between me and your sister.”
“What about dinner?” his mother asked in a final effort to control the situation.
“We won’t be joining you,” Iseabail added with a laugh, and he did the only thing he could. He ran for his bedchamber before he educated her sisters on far more than a few passionate kisses.