A Mistletoe Match For The White Duchess (Historical Regency Romance)

by Patricia Haverton

  The two agreed, Thomas would proceed to search Rover’s to locate one or both of the young men, while Jonathan would wait outside. Thomas would lure one or both outside where Jonathan would question them. Grateful for his friend’s help, Jonathan got up and left the club.

  * * *

  Outside, Jonathan rubbed his bare hands together against the chill. He hoped Thomas would not take too long, as Rover’s consisted of three stories with multiple gaming rooms on each floor. He paced up and down, both to keep warm and to ease his nerves.

  I can only pray that he finds at least one of the two, and that this one willingly confesses to his lie. Should I succeed in this venture, then all is not lost with Isolde. Certainly, her agreement to the marriage can be undone. Yes, I…

  He got no further in his plan when the door opened and Thomas appeared, a young, dark-haired man by his side. He was shorter than Thomas by half a head and rather rotund.

  “Now, where is that stallion you would have me wager on, Brown?” The man asked. “You best hope you are not having me on for I do not take kindly to such…Your Grace. What a pleasure to see you here.”

  The pudgy young man’s face lost all color when Jonathan stepped out from the shadows.

  “The pleasure is all mine. York, is it?” Jonathan guessed at the name and was relieved to find him nod in reply.

  “It is, Mister Edward York. My Father is Baron Darby. I guess that means one of these days you and I shall serve in the House of Lords together.” He stepped from one foot onto the other and chuckled in a nervous manner.

  “Perhaps we shall. I see you are fond of a good wager? Betting on my good friend’s stallion?”

  The man looked from Jonathan to Thomas and back again.

  “I do not mind a good bet, it is true, Your Grace.”

  Jonathan walked a few steps toward him and revealed a large wooden stick he had been carrying. He casually twirled the stick around in the air, feeling rather ridiculous as he went. He knew all too well that he would not have it in him to do actual harm to the man. But it did not hurt to let his opponent think that it might be in the realm of possibility.

  To his satisfaction, Mister York swallowed hard and kept his eyes on the stick.

  “I wondered if you might be able to help me learn some valuable information about a certain wager. Involving myself. And Miss Isolde Gordon. Would you have heard anything about that, York?”

  Jonathan stopped in front of him and looked down upon him, for York was quite a bit shorter than Jonathan.

  Sweat had appeared upon the man’s brow and his eyes were wild and wide. “I…Your Grace…I would not…I mean…Certainly….”

  Before he could continue his stammering, the club’s door opened and a taller, shaggy-haired man appeared.

  “Bad form, York! Leaving your friend…” the man stopped when he saw the three of them standing there.

  “Mister Portsmouth, I assume?” Jonathan’s tone was cheerful, yet threatening enough to cause York and Portsmouth to exchange a worried glance. “Why don’t you join us? My friend Mister Brown and I were having a rather pleasant conversation with Mister York here, were we not?” He wrapped an arm around the shorter man’s shoulders and smirked.

  “Inviting as that sounds, Your Grace, I really must bid my farewells to…”

  “Surely you are not leaving your good friend and partner in crime, Mister York, to keep us company on his own. That would be rather rude, would it not, Portsmouth?” Thomas took a couple of steps toward the man and gave him a good slap on the shoulder.

  “Join your friend, why don’t you?”

  Portsmouth stared at Thomas who, while slight of built, was still an imposing figure due to his height and ability to make his handsome face look ever so menacing.

  “I really must get…”

  Jonathan had had quite enough of the charade and let go of York. He rushed past Thomas and grabbed Portsmouth by the back of the neck, not unlike what Eric had done to him. He squeezed his fingers together until the man yelped and when he had a good, firm grip, he pushed him forward until he stood side by side with York.

  “Listen here, I am tired of the both of you. Now. Thanks to my good friend here, I already know that the two of you are the ones who have been spreading rumors about my supposed wager regarding Miss Gordon. Now, two things will happen. One: You will, here and now, confess that it is the both of you who have made up this vicious rumor. Two: One or the both of you will accompany me to Lord Lincester’s home and clear my name. Do we understand each other?”

  The two hapless fools continued to exchange glances, their expressions not unlike those of a stag, cornered during the hunt.

  “You must be hard of hearing in your young ages. The Duke of Ekhard has asked you a question. Do you understand him?”

  The shorter one, York, finally spoke up. “Your Grace, I do not understand. We cannot comply with a demand that is…that is to say we…I…”

  “Shut your mouth, York.” Portsmouth’s tone was more annoyed than scared, which worried Jonathan. “Your Grace, neither of us will confess to something we did not do. Yes, we have repeated a rumor. It is not a rumor that originated on our account. In fact, you can hardly blame us for believing it in the first place for…” he grinned. “The alternative would be that His Grace has indeed fallen for someone as unsightly as Miss Isolde Gordon. That would be ridiculous!” He snickered and suddenly, Jonathan could see exactly what Isolde has seen when these dirty rotten rakes had approached her.

  The menace, the evil, and the joy this man got from hurting another made Jonathan’s rage flare up. He thought of the pain these two had caused Isolde, and how they had almost ruined their future. He gritted his teeth and felt his nostrils flare. Before he knew it, he had raised his fist and planted a facer right into the middle of Portsmouth’s stupid, grinning face.

  “Ow!” the man grasped his nose which sprayed blood in every direction. Portsmouth cupped his nose with his hand and then took it away, looking at the pool of blood. Before he could say another word, his eyes rolled backward and he fainted on the snowy ground. The blood from his nose stained the white snow red.

  “Your Grace! That was quite the punch, I declare!” Thomas sounded as proud as a father seeing his son gallop on a horse for the first time.

  Ignoring his friend, Jonathan turned to the pudgy Mister York once more.

  “You see, I do not care for men who abuse and humiliate women. And I certainly don’t care for men who abuse and humiliate the woman I happen to love. And I most definitely do not care for men who ruin my future happiness for simple sport. Now. If you would like to join your friend on the ground here that can be arranged. Otherwise…”

  York raised his hands in front of him and took a step back. “No, Your Grace, I…Please, I’d much…I don’t do well at the sight of blood myself …I…”

  “York!” Thomas hollered at him and took a step toward him, grabbing the man by his collar. “Get a hold of yourself, man!”

  “Simply answer my questions. Was it either one of you who started the rumor regarding Miss Gordon and me?”

  York shook his head, his voice trembled as he spoke again. “No, Your Grace, please. It was not us. We only repeated what we heard, we…”

  Jonathan took another step toward him. “So, if not you, then who? Where did you hear it? Who spread it?”

  York’s face was utterly pitiful as he pressed his lips together. Tears sprang from his eyes.

  “That’s just it, Your Grace. The rumor came from a source so reliable it appeared impossible that it was not true. It was Miss Gordon’s Cousin. Miss Henrietta.”

  His eyes darted between Jonathan and Thomas. “She told everyone at Miss Downey’s coming-out ball that you had made a wager to win over Miss Gordon. Miss Henrietta said that was why you danced with Miss Gordon, and for no other reason. Why would we ever have doubted her words? Why would she make up something like this when Miss Gordon is one of her closest friends? Surely Your Grace can see why w
e believed it.”

  He rambled on and on but Jonathan was done listening. He’d heard enough. Henrietta. Of course. Had he not seen her that night, looking so intensely at the York and Portsmouth girls? He’d assumed it was due to what the girls had done to Isolde, but no. It had been because she’d used them to start this terrible rumor.

  It was why she’d acted so strangely around him the last few days. Never meeting his eyes, never addressing him with the same anger, the same rage as Miss Brown had.

  It was because she’d been the cause of all the misery. Her. Miss Henrietta Gordon. His beloved Isolde’s very own cousin.

  Chapter 29

  Isolde was awakened by a commotion downstairs. She had decided to spend the night in the guest chamber with Henrietta, who’d come to keep her company. Ever since her connection to the Duke had fallen apart, Henrietta and Olivia had taken turns staying with Isolde.

  The distraction was good for her, and it allowed her to forget the misery her life had become. Tonight, had been Henrietta’s third night at Roselawn and Isolde had fallen asleep beside her cousin, while listening to Henrietta daydream about her future life as the wife of the Earl of Dorington.

  She’d woken briefly to find Henrietta gently snoring next to her but had swiftly returned to her slumber. She’d been grateful for the ease with which she had fallen asleep the past few days, for it gave her respite from the rapid thoughts that surged through her mind.

  Tonight, her sweet release was rudely interrupted by the sounds of shouts from the great parlor. She slipped out of her cousin’s bed and dressed. As she was getting ready to step outside, Etta stirred.

  “Izzy? Where are you going?” Just then, she too heard the commotion. “What is the ruckus?” She got out of bed and quickly dressed and then, the two girls rushed downstairs where more voices had now joined the chorus of angry shouts.

  She recognized her brother, Eric and the voice of North, the butler. When she arrived at the bottom of the steps she froze as she saw the source of the other voices. The Duke was standing there, Mister York by his side. The way York looked, a pained, panicked expression upon his face, he was not here by choice.

  “Isolde!” the Duke called out when he saw her. “Please, hear me out. I know what you think I did and I have done nothing …”

  Eric cut him off. “I told you I would force a duel, should you return here and I was not speaking in jest!”

  “Eric!” Isolde turned to where the booming voice of her father came from. He too had been roused from his sleep and was now walking toward them. “Do not dare challenge anyone, least of all the Duke of Ekhard, to a duel. I do not care what dastardly thing he has done.”

  Isolde saw the way her father looked at the Duke. There was contempt upon his face, for he had of course now heard all about the wager. Her father was aware of the Duke’s station within the peerage.

  “Now, Your Grace. Would you care to inform me why you have come at such an ungodly hour and with what appears to be a captive in tow?”

  “Izzy, we should not be here. Please, let us return to our chambers. Uncle and Cousin Eric can take care of this, surely.” She tugged on Isolde’s arm but she did not budge. No. Isolde wanted to know what this was all about. Why had the Duke come? And why was York with him? York, of all people.

  “Your Grace, I would like to speak with you and Isolde. Or rather, I would like you to listen to what Mister York has to say, for it is important that you know the truth.” He faced Isolde as he said the last sentence.

  “The truth? Regarding the wager on my daughter’s heart? The truth about that?”

  The Duke nodded, eyes still on Isolde. “Indeed. For there was no wager placed, certainly not by me. And Mister York here will prove it.”

  Isolde’s father looked back at her, then at Eric and then back at the Duke.

  “I do not see the harm in hearing you out. York, tell me, is what you have to say of value in getting to the bottom of this entire sorry affair?”

  The young man nodded. His face was strained and red.

  “Yes, My Lord. As much as it pains me to be here, but yes. I would advise in the affirmative. His Grace has indeed done nothing wrong.”

  Nothing wrong? Faith! What is York speaking of? He haunted me with his words for days now! He and Portsmouth are the very reason I have decided to wed Downey, for they proved the Duke a callous liar and now he says it was not true? What am I to believe?

  “Then I suppose I shall hear you out. Isolde, join us in the drawing room please,” her father ordered, and started to walk toward the room in question when the Duke stopped him.

  “I would like your Non and Niece to join us, Your Grace.”

  Her father stopped and looked back, confused. “Eric I understand, but Henrietta? Why her?”

  The Duke shot a glare at Etta that was so filled with disdain that it filled Isolde with dread. Beside her, her cousin grew paler than she already was.

  “You will understand shortly, Lord Lincester.”

  Her father shrugged and turned to Isolde and Ettta. “You heard His Grace, join us please.”

  While Isolde walked forward, she noticed that Etta had not moved off the steps.

  “Etta, do not make a cake of yourself. Let us go.”

  Her cousin bit her lip so hard Isolde expected blood forthwith.

  “I… Isolde. Please. You must remember I have always loved you and …”

  “Henrietta, please, do not keep us waiting,” Isolde’s father shouted from the drawing room. With that, her cousin moved, albeit slowly, down the stairs and toward Isolde. She did not look at her. Her eyes were fixed to the ground.

  What is the matter with her? This behavior is oddly peculiar, even for Henrietta.

  They joined the others in the drawing room and took a seat on the settee. It was then that Isolde found herself looking at the Duke properly for the first time in a number of days. His face was gaunt and his skin ashen. He looked as though he had been lacking sleep. Their eyes met and for a moment, she felt the old familiar warmth, the comfort his presence always gave her. Then she shook her head, withdrawing her gaze and reminding herself of what he had done to her.

  “I am aware that a rumor has been circulating, not in a small part thanks to Mister York and his friend, the presently unavailable Mister Portsmouth.”

  “Where is Portsmouth, anyhow?” Eric asked, “These two are hardly ever apart and whatever York is into, Portsmouth is bound to be as well.”

  He shrugged. “He is with Thomas, being well cared for. Do not trouble yourself about that. In any case, the rumor in question states that I, Jonathan Allen, Duke of Ekhard, have engaged in a wager to win over the heart of one Miss Isolde Gordon. And not for honorable reasons. This lie has caused me and Miss Gordon a great deal of misery, and I am here today to both clear my name and put Miss Gordon’s mind at rest. Now. York. The rumor. Did you spread it?”

  The young man looked around the room at the many curious faces and gulped. “I have Your Grace. And I am ever so sorry that…”

  “Hush, York. I did not ask for your apology. Say, did you and your old chum, Portsmouth, taunt and embarrass Miss Gordon here with said rumor just for sport on Christmas Eve morning?”

  York once again gulped and nodded. “We did.” He opened his mouth again, but the Duke would not let him speak.

  “Now. As you know, Rover’s keeps records of all official wagers. Have you seen any evidence of such a wager?”

  York shook his head.

  “Have you spoken to anyone who claims to have heard from me that I have entered into such a wager?”

  York shook his head again.

  “Very well then.” The Duke addressed the room, although Isolde was aware that he glanced at her more often than once, awaiting her reaction.

  Truthfully, she did not know how to react. Thus far, York did indeed cause her to consider that the Duke was entirely innocent after all. Perhaps his feelings for her had been true? Why else would he be here, in the dark of
night, with Mister York who clearly did not wish to be here? Why else if not to prove his innocence.

  However, if he hadn’t made a wager then…she cleared her throat.

  “Your Grace, if it was not you who made a wager, then where did the rumor come from?”

  He looked at her as she spoke and his face softened. There was a hint of hope upon his visage which filled Isolde with warmth, for it said that– well–that she had been wrong to doubt him.