“Did Harriet make any purchases?” he asked.
“She did,” Isabel replied, although she did not quantify her response, nor did she make mention of the many rings the woman had stored away in her pockets.
Laurence glanced over his shoulder toward the house. “I told her she could make purchases today.” Isabel was unsure if he was simply telling her this or if he was asking her permission. “Her funds are short at the moment. I thought it would be a kind gesture on my part.” He paused and took a drink of his wine.
Was he nervous somehow? And why did he deem it necessary to share with her the current financial situation of his sister?
“Did you enjoy her company?”
The last question was asked with concern, and Isabel knew she could not tell him the truth outright. “I must admit, Harriet is…sociable.” She could not think of a better word, and she certainly could not use exasperating, although it was much more accurate a term. “I admit that it has been a while since I have experienced such a day.”
Laurence let out a sigh. “Good. I have to admit that I was concerned.”
A question came to Isabel. “How long will she be staying with us?”
Laurence rubbed his chin. “I am not certain, but I believe only a few more days. You do not mind, do you? Did you want her to leave sooner?”
“Not at all,” Isabel lied. If having his sister nearby pleased him, she would do what she could to make the most of the woman’s visit. “It is just that I am missing her already. I want to cherish every moment I can with her.” Although the lie burned her tongue, it was worth the reaction she received.
“I am pleased,” he replied with a wide grin.
As they sat together on the bench, an easy silence fell around them. She did not mind being in his company. He was so unlike his sister—quiet where Harriet was boisterous, thoughtful where his sister would speak whatever was on her mind without deliberation, and selfless where Harriet thought only of herself.
Laurence placed his hands on his knees. “I must go dress; dinner will be ready soon. Braised lamb with a complementary wine sauce.”
“That sounds nice,” Isabel replied as she stood. “I believe that sounds nice enough to send me rushing to dress for dinner.”
He offered her his elbow, and she threaded her arm through his. They walked into the house without speaking, as if there was no need for words.
At the bottom of the main staircase, he stopped and said, “I have a few things to finish before I dress. I will see you at dinner.”
She paused before continuing. “Thank you again for today,” she said.
He gazed down at her, and for the first time in his company, her heartbeat quickened. “Of course,” he replied, a huskiness to his voice.
She hurried to her room and closed the door behind her, leaning breathlessly against it. With her hand on her breast, she willed her heart to return to its normal pace. It had been several years since she had experienced such a reaction to a man’s closeness, but she pushed it aside. She could not allow her heart to be caught in that web again.
She forced her thoughts from that all too familiar warmth of being in the company of Laurence to her outing with Harriet. If she could manage to endure one more week in the presence of his sister, the woman would be gone, and Isabel looked forward to the peace that would be returned to her.
Or at least the semblance of peace.
Chapter Fourteen
A week passed, and contrary to the prediction Laurence had made, Harriet still had not returned to her home in Malmsbury, and there was no indication she would be leaving anytime soon. If what the woman was saying at the moment was true, her stay might turn into another month.
Isabel had yet to spend any time to herself, for every waking moment was spent doing whatever Harriet desired. They had returned to town three more times, making more purchases neither needed, and then visited Harriet’s friend Margaret before returning home. Margaret was the exact opposite of Harriet—quiet and unobtrusive—and Isabel wondered how they could have been such good friends.
Isabel was more than happy to suffer through it all in order to please Laurence, but it was the manner in which Harriet spoke to her brother that ruffled her feathers. Even a blind man could have seen how she used him for his money without so much as a lick of respect for his station. Laurence lacked confidence, and it would never build with his sister’s constant ridicule.
“You know,” Harriet was saying, “I was thinking that the ballroom needs redecorating. The styles are changing rather quickly, Laurence, and its current state is an embarrassment to us all.”
“It was decorated not six years ago,” Laurence argued.
Harriet took a bite of her potato and washed it down with a bit of wine. After dabbing at her mouth with a napkin, she replied, “Six years or six hundred, it does not matter.” She snapped her fingers at one of the footmen and tapped on the rim of her glass. “If I am to host a party, I will not allow the guests to sit in such squander.”
Isabel set down her fork with a clink. “Party?” she asked in shock. “No one mentioned to me we were hosting a party.”
“Oh, yes,” Laurence replied as his sister took a drink from her refilled glass of wine. “Harriet mentioned that a party would be a good way to introduce you to a few of our friends.”
Isabel let out a concentrated breath, but before she could respond, Harriet said, “He never hosts anything. It is no wonder the ton believes he is a recluse.”
“Perhaps he prefers to not have people traipsing through his house,” Isabel replied evenly. “There are some who prefer to be left alone and not forced to be crowded together with their peers.”
Harriet ignored her. “We shall go into town tomorrow and secure several workers to redecorate the ballroom. As a matter of fact, the drawing room needs attention, as well.”
Isabel, realizing that she would have no say in the matter, turned to Laurence. “And what about you?” she asked. “Would you like to join us tomorrow? Perhaps Harriet and I can shop while you do something on your own.”
She caught the flicker of a twinkle in his eye, but it fizzled at Harriet’s snort. “He does not like to go into town,” she said with a sneer. “Too many people would stare at him because of his limp.”
Laurence reached under the table, and Isabel knew he was rubbing his leg, something she noticed he did quite often. Did his leg truly pain him, or had he developed a habit over time?
“Too much gossip for one to bear,” Harriet continued. “It may be best if we plan on working on the entire house. Even your little hideaway.”
Laurence blanched. “My hideaway?”
His sister laughed. “You believe I am naive to the fact that you spend time painting?” she asked still sniggering. “I do understand why you do so in secret, for if anyone learned of your particular interests, the embarrassment would be great.”
Isabel glared at the marchioness. Family or no, she had had enough of this woman’s harsh words and would not allow her to berate Laurence, or her for that matter, any longer. “My husband happens to enjoy painting,” she snapped at the woman. Then she narrowed her eyes. “And I will redecorate the house when I feel it must be done and not a moment sooner. If a party is to be hosted, it will be because my husband and I have chosen to do so. Not you.”
Harriet looked absolutely apoplectic. “I have never been…”
“Spoken to in this way?” Isabel finished for her. “I do not doubt it. This is our home, Harriet. If we wish for your aid or your opinion, we will ask for it. Otherwise, keep your nose out of it.”
Harriet placed her napkin on her plate and pursed her lips. “To think I am being talked to like this in my own home,” she said indignantly. “Laurence, how can you allow her to speak to me this way?”
Isabel pushed her chair back and placed both hands on the table and leaned forward. “Do not ever speak down to my husband again,” she seethed. “Do not make mention of his leg or anything else he choos
es to do or not do, or so help me…”
Harriet stood with such force, her chair toppled to the floor. A footman rushed to set it right, but the woman took no notice. “I will not be spoken to in such a manner any longer. I am going upstairs to pack my belongings and will leave first thing in the morning.” She stared at Laurence for several moments, and when he made no comment, she huffed and then stormed out of the room.
Trying to compose herself, Isabel turned to her husband. “I am sorry,” she said.
He remained silent, the only indication of his feelings about the interchange the frown he wore as he hurried from the room.
Had Isabel upset him to the point he would retract his offer to save Scarlett Hall? Or would he ridicule her for her actions and demand she never speak to his sister in that manner again? Had she taken an already difficult situation and made it worse?
She grabbed her wine glass and hurried to the garden, the only place she could sit alone to think.
***
Isabel stood looking over the rolling landscape as the rays of the sun lit the valley. Although she did not regret her words to Harriet, she did regret the manner in which she spoke them. Her stomach knotted with worry that Laurence was upset with her, and she hoped she would be able to appease him in some way.
The sound of footsteps made her turn to see Laurence approaching. His face was solemn, and Isabel braced herself for the scolding she knew was to come.
“It is still the most beautiful of views,” he said as he came to stand beside her. “You asked me before if I ever wondered about the people who live in those cottages. I had not before that day we picnicked together, but since then, I find myself staring across the way and imagining what their lives might be like.”
“Laurence,” she whispered. “I am sorry…”
He raised a hand, and she closed her mouth. “I have seen people with very little, their hopes and dreams all they have to sustain them. Yet, here I am, living on a grand estate with much wealth, and many wish they could have what I have.” He shook his head in wonderment. “However, they do not know the burdens put upon my shoulders. The fact is, the money they seek cannot bring them the happiness they want. I know this, for, although I possess much, my own sister still hates me.”
Isabel wished she could calm the agony that threatened to overwhelm her. “If I have caused this distress, I am truly sorry. It was not my intention to speak as I did to your sister.”
“But you meant your words?” he asked. The question hung in the air as Isabel considered how to respond. “Please, I must hear the truth.”
She turned to him. “The truth?” she asked. “Very well. I do not regret the words, for I meant them. My only regret is the anger with which I articulated them.”
Laurence nodded. “What do you wish me to do about Harriet? She is having her belongings packed as we speak. Do I stop her and ask her to stay, or do I simply let her go?”
“That is your choice,” Isabel replied. “I cannot make it for you. You are the duke, and my husband; I will support whatever decision you make.”
It was quiet for a moment, the only sounds the soft rustle of the tall grass in the light breeze and the twitter of nearby birds.
“Do you believe she treats me fairly?” he asked.
Isabel thought on the question for a moment before responding. “I do not,” she replied with honesty. “She speaks down to you as if you were lower than a servant. She makes mention of your leg as if it was a burden she was forced to carry.” Laurence winced, and Isabel’s heart went out to him. “However, I care nothing about your leg, for it is the heart that I admire.”
The man smiled. “Thank you,” he said. “Those words mean much to me. I have but one more question, and I want you to remain honest.”
“I will try.”
“Do you like my sister?”
Isabel was taken aback by the forwardness of such an inquiry, and once again she wondered if she should be honest or not. However, she had lied before, and if her actions this night did not show that, something else would. Therefore, she replied, “I do not. She believes I am after your money, for one thing. And despite the reasons for our marrying, which has to do with money, that was an agreement you made with my mother. However, that is not the foremost reason for my dislike of her. Her manipulation of you is despicable. I see it, and I do not like it.”
He released a heavy breath. “What you say is true, and I have known for some time.”
“Then why do you allow it?” she demanded. “You are the duke; you should answer to no one, especially your sister.”
“I…” His face was filled with anguish. “I hurt Harriet through the death of my parents. I have felt guilty since their accident, and I hoped that one day I could appease her by giving her gifts.”
Isabel saw the pain in his eyes, and she placed a comforting hand on his arm. “You have been doing this for a while, I assume?”
“Yes.”
“Doing so has not produced the results you sought,” she said quietly. “And I do not believe it will.”
“I am sorry,” he replied. “For how she treated you and for me allowing it to happen.”
“You owe me no apology. As I said before, you are my husband. I will support you in every decision you make.”
“I believe it would be best to allow Harriet to leave. Her scorn toward me will still remain, but if you and I are to begin a new life together, then it must be just the two of us.”
“I agree,” Isabel replied.
“Would you like to return to the house?” he asked.
Isabel nodded, and the two walked back in silence, her arm in his. She never realized how low the man’s confidence was until this past week, and his words moments ago only confirmed her suspicions. However, now, as he affirmed his decision to remove Harriet from his life, or at least from his home for the time being, it was a new direction that would only help his confidence grow stronger.
When they returned to the foyer, Harriet stood beside her bags, a kerchief in her hand. As soon as she saw them, she dabbed at her eyes. “Have you come to ridicule me?” she said with a sniffle. “To berate me until I am a broken woman?”
“There is something you should know,” Laurence said, placing his hand on Isabel’s arm when she attempted to move away. “You are my sister, and I care for you. However, the way you speak to me and my wife will no longer be tolerated.”
Harriet placed her hand to her breast dramatically and gasped. “I only wished to help,” she exclaimed. “And this woman,” she motioned to Isabel, “is filling your head with lies!”
Isabel placed a hand atop his for support and reassurance. From what she had seen, this was a large step for him, and she was proud he was taking it.
“Isabel has made me see where I have gone wrong,” he said. “It is her wish that you leave, and I support it.”
Isabel felt her heart drop to her feet. The decision to send Harriet packing had been his, not hers; she had agreed because she saw it as a way to build his confidence. Instead, he had passed the blame onto her.
“I see,” Harriet said with a derisive sniff. She turned to Weber. “Have my bags placed in the carriage at once,” she ordered. Then she huffed and strode out the door.
“Laurence, I did not want…”
“Do not worry. Harriet has learned an important lesson today.”
Isabel gave him a skeptical look. “And what is that?” she asked.
“That I will do anything for you,” he replied with a smile. “Even removing my sister from my home.”
Isabel could not stop the racing of her mind. This step had not been meant for her, but for him. And now the burden of blame was doubly added onto her shoulders. She gave him a numb smile and then excused herself before hurrying to the drawing room and pouring herself another glass of wine.
Chapter Fifteen
The days became a week, and those became three, and each day the routine Isabel followed was unchanging. In the morning, she wrote
at least one letter—typically to one of her sisters or her mother to assure them that she was happy in her new home—and then she would meet with Mrs. Atkins, the housekeeper, to discuss whatever household business that needed discussing. Laurence had been happy, if not a bit surprised, how quickly she had taken on her role as duchess; however, Isabel reminded him that she had been married before and, although her husband had not been titled, they still had several servants and therefore she knew her duties. Of course, he had apologized profusely, which she had accepted without hesitation. Who was she to be angry with the man for something so trivial?
Once her morning tasks were complete, she breakfasted with Laurence, and as he worked in his study, she strolled through the gardens or returned to her room to read. At night, they dined together and then went to the drawing room to chat about their day and to have an evening drink of some sort.
Although she made every attempt not to, Isabel could not help but think often of Scarlett Hall. She missed her childhood home and wished to be there with her sisters. Granted, it was only a few miles away, but now that she was married once again, it might as well have been in Scotland for all the chance she would have to visit.
Laurence seemed to sense her melancholy, for he offered to accompany her if she chose to go riding, but she declined, complaining that her stomach was queasy. Then he had asked her to join him while he painted; however, she refused such an invitation, as well. What could she possibly understand about the intricacies of painting? Furthermore, why would she find such an activity entertaining? He could have his painting; she would eventually find some sort of activity to consume all the extra hours in her day, she was sure of it.
As she sat in the field just beyond the garden that overlooked the cottages in the valley, Isabel’s hair fluttered in the light breeze. She had taken a blanket and spread it upon the grass beneath a large shade tree, which allowed her to remove her bonnet. In her hand she held a glass of wine, the bottle lying open beside her.
Secrets of Scarlett Hall Box Set: A Clean & Sweet Regency Historical Romance Collection Page 12