15. Isla
Isla
Two days later, Isla stepped from her carriage and down onto the cobbled drive in front of Lady Pierpont’s mansion.
She’d been peremptorily summoned two hours earlier to attend the lady during an early tea.
The messenger either had no idea what the meeting was about or knew and was under orders not to say.
The Archduchess’s estates were vast in keeping with her position in society.
The circular cobblestone drive meandered around an immaculately landscaped park, with its lush green grass, beautiful trees, and ornate benches placed where one could sit and enjoy the surrounding scenery.
The palatial mansion had two distinct wings to either side of the massive oaken front doors.
While Isla had never actually been into the Grande Dame’s home, it appeared that each wing held, at a minimum, thirty rooms if she were to judge by the number of windows fronting the estate.
Feeling more than a little outclassed, Isla tried to picture her grandmother visiting her friend and possibly attending dances here.
She still wondered how close the two women had been and thought perhaps her attraction to the feminine form was more than a freakish happenstance.
As she mounted the half-circle of polished stone steps, the front door opened, and an older man dressed in formal livery stepped out onto the front stoop.
“Lady Brighton, welcome to Lanbarth Estates.” He waited for her to join him on the top step before bowing slightly. “Lady Pierpont is awaiting your arrival.” After ushering her into the entry hall, he held out an arm. “May I take your overcoat, My Lady?”
Isla undid the Navy-blue ribbon that held her cloak closed at her neck, unbuttoned several mother-of-pearl buttons, and shrugged out of the garment.
After draping the cloak over his arm, she took a moment to glance around the hall, which was larger than most drawing rooms and far better appointed than many elegant homes in Fachan’s Bay.
Watercolors painted by some of the kingdom’s most renowned artists were tastefully placed at various intervals along the walls.
In one, she recognized the thoroughbred but not the artist. That stallion’s bloodlines ran strong in the Mathilde line of her horses.
That thought alone caused a pang of panic to tighten her belly.
She couldn’t imagine breaking up her herd, but she’d do it if it meant keeping the animals out of Montfort’s hands.
Realizing her knuckles had gone white from where she was nervously clasping them in front of her bodice, Isla made a concerted effort to relax her fingers as she followed the footman deeper into the mansion.
She gazed into several open doors with a curiosity that bordered on gauche, as it lacked the subtlety propriety demanded.
No one was around to notice, though, and she marveled at the marbled fireplaces, the clusters of delicate chandeliers in every room, and the vaulted ceilings adorned with colorful, hand-painted frescoes.
Isla was considered one of the wealthier landowners in Fachan’s Bay, but nothing within the walls of her estates compared to the opulence of the Archduchess’s mansion.
The footman stopped at the threshold of an intricately carved door inlaid with mother-of-pearl and waited for Isla to join him. When she did, he announced, “Lady Brighton has arrived, Your Grace.”
Lady Pierpont sat in a burgundy wingchair elaborately decorated with intricate floral patterns embroidered throughout. High-quality padding filled the rich brocade fabric, ensuring comfort while contributing to the chair’s overall elegance. “Thank you, Henry. Send Lawrence in, would you?”
“Of course, Your Grace.” He left as silently as he’d entered.
The lady indicated the sofa facing her chair. “Thank you for coming on such short notice, Lady Brighton.”
“Isla, please, My Lady.” Isla gracefully glided across the room and settled onto the sofa, embodying the elegance her deportment teachers had instilled.
Lawrence stepped in, and Wilhelmina glanced at her guest. “What is your beverage preference, Isla?”
Isla preferred a tall glass of water, but propriety demanded she order a more substantial drink. “Would you have a nice rosé?”
Lawrence nodded. “Of course, My Lady. I have a fine vintage from the C?tes de Provence, if that will serve?”
“Yes, that would be wonderful.” Instead of looking directly at Lady Pierpont, Isla bought herself time to calm her nerves by pretending interest in the butler as he walked to a sidebar she hadn’t noticed earlier.
He retrieved a bottle of rosé from the shelf and poured a generous portion into a tulip-shaped glass. After he brought the wine, Lawrence left and quietly closed the door behind him.
Isla watched him go and then, with a knot of apprehension tightening her shoulders, glanced at Lady Pierpont.
Wilhelmina wasted no time on polite chitchat.
“I summoned you because I’ve received information from my people in the capital city that my nephew has boarded a sailing ship and is on his way to Fachan’s Bay.
That doesn’t bode well for you, my dear.
If I had to guess, I’d say he’s on his way to personally strip you of your land and your estates and offer you in marriage to Lord Montfort as a way to save Windsong Hall. ”
Before realizing she’d moved, Isla found herself standing and gaping stupidly down at the Archduchess.
“That’s not possible. He can’t just give me away like I’m some property to grant one of his loyal subjects.
” Spikes of fear radiated out from her sternum, and roiling waves of nausea had her hoping she wouldn’t embarrass herself in front of this formidable woman.
“He’s the King, my dear, and within an abysmally limited number of legal constraints, he can do as he sees fit for the good of the realm. Now, be seated and listen to what I have to say.”
Feeling like she was experiencing an otherworldly experience, as though she were in a dreamlike or fantastical reality, Isla slowly sank back onto the sofa.
This couldn’t be happening. She’d made one mistake, and Montfort and the King intended to capitalize on it and steal her family’s land and businesses.
Not only that, they intended to take her freedom as well.
The Archduchess waited for Isla to retake her seat and then continued.
“I discussed the problem with Judge Riordan last evening. He stayed up most of the night doing research at my behest and discovered a little-known, hidden codicil tucked into the finer points of the law governing land seizure by the crown that will work in our favor. He informs me that while the King may, in most cases, do as he pleases, he may not strip you of your land or force you into marriage if you’re not physically present to appeal his decision. I’ve, therefore?—”
The door opened, and the footman stepped inside. “Lord Jontoreaux, Your Grace.”
Jonto strode into the room and bowed to each woman in turn. “Your Grace. Lady Brighton. It’s good to see you both looking so well.” He nodded to the footman as the man backed from the room to return to his duties.
The Archduchess indicated a second chair similar to her own. “Be seated. We don’t have time for the niceties, I’m afraid. I’ve asked you here to request a favor.”
“I noticed Judge Riordan and Miss Smythson arriving in their coach as I stepped into the vestibule and knew there must be some import to this meeting if they were to attend as well.”
As if on cue, the footman returned and announced, “Judge Riordan and Miss Smythson, Your Grace.”
Isla turned to see James and Celie walk into the room.
Celie caught her eye and raised a single brow, silently asking whether she knew why they’d been summoned.
Isla lowered her gaze to the silk carpet, trying desperately to control her panic. She wrung her hands, turning her normally pink knuckles a startling shade of white.
Wilhelmina pointed to a third chair and to the empty sofa next to Isla. “Everyone be seated. We’re all here now, and as I told Lord Jontoreaux, we have no time for social pleasantries.” Without waiting for her orders to be obeyed, Wilhelmina repeated what she’d told Isla.
When the older woman finished delivering the gut-wrenching news, Celie, who’d been kept in the dark as to what James had been up to during the previous evening and early morning hours, blanched an unhealthy shade of grey and lowered herself onto the sofa next to Isla.
Before he sat, James produced a folded parchment from his pocket and held it up for all to see. “I have the pertinent document here, Your Grace.”
Wilhelmina held out her hand.
James stepped forward and placed the document into the outstretched fingers.
She unfolded it and waved him away as she held the document higher to better catch the rays of light streaming in through the window. “Don’t hover, James. Sit.”
Lawrence, who’d apparently asked the other three what their drink preferences were before they entered the parlor, provided Jonto and James with brandy snifters and handed Celie a rosé from his tray.
Lady Pierpont turned to Jonto. “Lord Jontoreaux?—”
“Just Jonto, please, My Lady.”
The Archduchess nodded distractedly and waved aside his objection.
“As I mentioned to Isla, Judge Riordan discovered that while the King may, in most cases, do as he pleases, he may not strip her of her land or force her into marriage if she’s not physically present to appeal his decision.
It is, therefore, imperative that Lady Brighton leave Fachan’s Bay immediately and stay away at least as long as it takes my nephew to tire of the city and return to the palace. ”
Jonto instantly understood her intentions and nodded accordingly.
“It happens that my man, Nico, and I are planning to take our ships South and speak to a—” he paused to consider a better term than simply ‘hedge witch,’ “—land restoration specialist about coming to help Lady Brighton heal her upper pastures.”