by Jen Turano
“Ah, now isn’t this cozy?” he asked, moving to a round table that was covered with dinnerware, two silver-domed dishes already waiting for them.
“I’m sure you’re longing to freshen up,” the duke began, nodding to the small retiring room included in the Pullman car. “I’ve taken the liberty of purchasing you a few essentials—corsets, stockings, petticoats, shoes, and, of course, a few delightful frocks.” He nodded to one of the large satchels his men had left behind. “You’ll find everything in there.”
Thankful for an excuse to get out of the duke’s presence, Isadora snatched up the satchel and hauled it to the small retiring room, breathing out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Stripping herself from her soiled clothing, she splashed water from the small sink over her face, finding a cloth beside the sink that she used to scrub the dirt from her hands, arms, and even legs. It took several minutes to get into the corset the duke had chosen for her, her skin crawling again when she imagined him picking it out and knowing he’d been picturing her in that corset as he’d selected it.
Twisting her hair into a simple knot at the back of her head, she secured it with pins she found in the satchel. Then, and not bothering to glance at her reflection in the mirror, she drew in a deep breath, preparing herself for the unknown. As she released the breath, she said a small prayer for courage, not knowing if God would answer her prayer or not since she’d been remiss over the years in her relationship with Him.
It had been only after she’d gone to the service in Canonsburg that she’d realized a relationship with God wasn’t the formal affair she’d always believed, not with how easily the people of Canonsburg seemed to embrace their faith. More importantly, though, they lived out that faith through kindness, which they’d extended to her without hesitation. That had shown her that even though she, along with many of her societal contemporaries, attended church every Sunday, the true spirit of faith had been woefully neglected. In fact, in all frankness, she’d often left all thought of God behind after those services, returning to her life of frivolity and certainly not striving to make anyone’s life easier or . . .
“I’m losing patience.”
Pulling herself back to the dreadful situation at hand, Isadora opened the door and walked across the train car, refusing a shudder when the duke’s gaze all but devoured her.
“You’ll be pleased to learn the terrapin is delicious, as is the lamb.”
Having no choice but to take a seat and dine with the man, not when he was once again waving his pistol her way, Isadora settled into a chair. But then, in a blatant act of defiance, she reached across the table and snatched up the salt shaker she didn’t wait for him to pass her. Then, after salting the lamb, she picked it up with her fingers, took a large bite, and proceeded to chew with her mouth open.
Disgust immediately flickered through the duke’s eyes. “I won’t tolerate your theatrics, Isadora, and you’re putting me off my supper by showing me the contents of your mouth. You will cease immediately or you’ll spend the rest of our journey hungry.”
Setting down the lamb, she picked up a wineglass filled to the brim with Burgundy wine and took a large gulp but immediately spit the wine back into the glass when she recalled the duke had an unfortunate habit of poisoning people.
A second later, she watched as her plate was taken away from her, as was her wine glass, the duke resuming his seat as he sent her a look of annoyance. “I told you—no more theatrics.”
“Spitting my wine out wasn’t theatrics. It was more an attempt to make it more difficult for you to poison me.”
He stuffed a piece of terrapin in his mouth, chewed it, swallowed, then let out a very unrefined belch. “Someone’s been listening to unfounded rumors and accusations.”
“I don’t know how the rumors could be considered unfounded when all three of your wives have ended up dead.”
Blotting his lips with a linen napkin, he smiled. “An excellent point, but I don’t care to discuss my previous wives—or poison, for that matter. Aren’t you curious as to how I was able to track you down?”
“I would imagine that boiled down to luck.”
“Or my tenacity to never accept defeat when it comes to something I want, and, my dear, I do want you.”
As the train began to pull out of the station, Isadora realized any chance of escape was now impossible, not that she would purposely try to escape unless she could render the duke incapable of sending that message to his man. Settling back into her chair, she forced a belch of her own, ignored the narrowing of the duke’s eyes, then propped her feet on top of the table, realizing she’d gone too far when he threw a potato at her.
Thankfully his aim was less than accurate, but because she didn’t want him to toss what seemed to be creamed spinach her way next, she took her feet off the table, sat up in her chair, then immediately slouched back down after he sent her an approving smile.
“You’re beginning to annoy me.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t discover that I have a few annoying tendencies when you were questioning everyone in Newport about me.”
“You’ve apparently kept those tendencies well hidden because members of Newport society had only the most glowing things to say about you.”
“That’s because most of us in society don’t know each other all that well, no matter how often we attend the same social events.”
“Do you want to know how I ran you to ground or not?”
“Since you’re probably going to tell me no matter my answer, by all means, divulge away.”
He slurped a spoonful of creamed spinach, then met her gaze. “It was a brilliant strategy on my part. Because, you see, after I learned you’d fled New York, I realized you were a lady prone to games.”
“I wasn’t playing a game.”
He ignored that. “I’m very good at games—I always win—so I decided the best strategy I could invoke would be that of waiting you out. I then sent my men to watch over your house. They were instructed to intercept any mail, messages, or telegrams that might be delivered there.” He spooned another bit of creamed spinach into his mouth. “You would not believe how many disappointments I suffered, what with the messages I had to plow through regarding fish deliveries, invitations, and letters from distant relatives complaining about their many illnesses.” He smiled. “I do hope your mother won’t be too put out with me if she learns I’m behind why she wasn’t invited to some of the mundane frivolities New York offers in the summer. Do tell her, though, that I enjoyed the play she’d been invited to attend, one she wouldn’t have known was taking place after I absconded with her invitation.”
“My mother is back in New York?”
“Of course. What type of mother would she be if she neglected to return after she was notified that you’d taken flight?”
“What of my father?”
“He, thankfully, has not returned.” A bead of sweat appeared on the duke’s forehead, but he immediately wiped it away. “Fathers have been known to be somewhat reluctant to marry their daughters off to me in the past, so it’s a fortuitous circumstance that your father seems to have a great liking for making himself scarce in New York.”
“He’s expected home any day.”
“‘Any day’ is a day too late for you, my dear. But getting back to my story. My patience finally paid off when a telegram was delivered to your home, sent by a Mr. Nigel Flaherty, who’d apparently become aware of your whereabouts. He very kindly included an address of where to find you, and after intercepting that telegram, I, along with a few of my most trusted men, made haste to Pittsburgh.”
“When did you arrive?”
“A few hours before you and I were finally reunited. I was forced to have my rented carriage travel up and down that street, waiting for you to finally step out of the house without one of those pesky children with you, or that elderly couple.” He took another slurp of creamed spinach. “My efforts clearly paid off because here you are, and we ca
n now move forward with our lives.”
“And are we to move forward with our lives on the first ship bound for England?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m remarkably short on funds now, what with how much I had to dole out to find you. I need your dowry.”
“And you think because we’ve now been alone together that I’m sufficiently ruined enough to where my parents won’t hesitate to turn over that dowry to you in order to save my reputation?”
“I don’t want anyone to believe I’m marrying soiled goods,” the duke countered. “Although . . . you didn’t allow that MacKenzie to take liberties with your person, did you?”
It would have been so easy to say that she had allowed Ian liberties, which might have disgusted the duke so much he’d abandon his plan to wed her. But then, realizing the duke would see that as a challenge and knowing she could never put Ian in that type of danger, even though he was most likely capable of handling it, she shook her head.
“Mr. MacKenzie is too much of a gentleman to take liberties with the help.”
“I’m a gentleman, and yet I’ve often . . .” The duke stopped talking, narrowed his eyes at her, then returned to his spinach, not lifting his head until he consumed the entire bowl. Releasing another belch, he leaned back in his chair. “As I was saying, I won’t tolerate gossip being spread about my duchess, which is why no one will learn of our time alone together, not even your parents.”
“What?”
“Information like that is far too easily overheard by members of the staff, so all your parents will know is that you were trying to whet my appetite for you, which had you so foolishly running away. Then you sent me a personal message, telling me where to come fetch you, and I, being a magnanimous sort, gave in to your demands and married you.”
“And that marriage is to take place . . . ?”
“Tomorrow afternoon. We’re even now heading back to New York City, where we’ll then take a carriage to the harbor. I, through the proficiency of my men, have found an accommodating captain of a most derelict ship named The Tempest. That captain, I’m pleased to report, has agreed to marry us.”
“And then we’ll repair to my parents’ home and inform them of our marriage?”
“Indeed, which will then see your lovely dowry being turned over to me, which will then provide me with the funds I need to purchase passage for us back to London.”
Isadora frowned. “But what if I refuse to go through with this marriage ceremony with you?”
“That, my dear, would be a grave error on your part. If you’ve forgotten, my man is still in Pittsburgh, awaiting further instruction. You wouldn’t want me to instruct him to . . . seek out those adorable children, would you?”
Bile rose in Isadora’s throat as she shook her head.
“Wonderful,” the duke exclaimed as he lifted his glass of wine to her. “And with that settled, allow me to toast my lovely bride-to-be.”
Chapter 35
“You should at least send a telegram to make certain Izzie made it back to New York City.”
Dragging his attention from a copy of The Taming of the Shrew he’d picked up in Pittsburgh only that morning, Ian met Aunt Birdie’s gaze and shook his head.
“She left without telling any of us good-bye. That is clear proof Izzie, or rather Isadora, wants nothing more to do with us. She probably wouldn’t even respond to a telegram from me.”
“That’s your pride talking, son,” Uncle Amos said, looking up from the newspaper he’d been reading. “And while I know you were deeply hurt by Izzie withholding the truth about her identity, in my humble opinion, you overreacted.”
“She made a fool of me—a fool of us all.”
“She didn’t. She merely neglected to tell us about her unfortunate upbringing.”
Ian arched a brow his uncle’s way. “How could growing up in the lap of luxury be an unfortunate upbringing?”
Uncle Amos arched a brow of his own. “Because Izzie isn’t a woman meant to be stifled. She’s a woman who needs her freedom. I doubt she found much freedom in the confines of high society, but she found that freedom with us.”
“Again, she left without saying good-bye. And while I think she did that to lessen the pain of saying good-bye to the children, she’s left them feeling abandoned, a devastating feeling I know from personal experience.”
“As I’ve said before,” Aunt Birdie countered, “her leaving in such an unexpected manner was quite out of character. That, to me, proves she was overly distraught and not thinking clearly.” She nodded. “Frankly, I think we should do more than merely send her a telegram. I think we should go and see her in person.”
“I have far too much work to do to travel to New York.”
“You only have that tremendous amount of work pouring into your office because you listened to my counsel regarding how I’ve always believed God had a better plan for you all along—one that sees you working with the common men over the wealthy ones. Because it was my counsel that helped you find your true purpose in life, I would think you’d listen to my counsel now and realize I’m right.”
For a moment, Ian didn’t respond because what his aunt had said was nothing less than the truth. After he’d decided to throw in his lot with the laborers instead of the investors and owners of the mills, he felt as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
There was always a line of union men and laborers waiting for him at his Pittsburgh office, and he couldn’t refute Aunt Birdie’s claim that God had different plans for him than those he’d imagined, those plans using the education he’d been fortunate enough to obtain for a greater purpose than merely building up a personal fortune.
Knowing he could no longer ignore the needs of the working man, he’d turned his back on the many requests he’d had to continue representing the owners and investors. He decided he was only going to put his skills as an attorney and negotiator to use by seeking justice for those without a voice.
Even with that decision, though, he still felt as if a part of him was missing, and he knew that part was Izzie.
He’d confessed to her that he held her in affection, but it wasn’t mere affection he held for the woman . . . it was love.
Unfortunately, he was well aware he’d left her convinced that his affection for her was dead, so even if he took his aunt’s advice and inquired about her welfare, he couldn’t very well expect her to—
Henry took that moment to race into the room, Elmer, unsurprisingly, tucked under his arm. He skidded to a stop in front of Ian, looking determined. “I need to ask a favor.”
“You want to teach Buttercup how to climb stairs so she won’t continue standing at the bottom of those stairs, mooing in a pathetic fashion and making everyone feel sorry for her?” he asked.
Henry’s eyes widened. “That’s a great idea, but that’s not the favor I want to ask.”
“What’s the favor, then?”
“I want you to take me and the girls to New York to see Izzie.”
Of anything Ian had been expecting, that hadn’t been it. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Do you have a better idea that would have Prim, Violet, and Daisy happy again—one that wouldn’t see them cryin’ so much?”
“They’ve been crying?”
“All the time, but they hide it from you so you won’t feel bad since we know you must be missin’ Izzie as much as we are.” Henry stepped closer and dropped his voice to a whisper. “Maybe you could tell her you was sorry about yellin’ at her, and then for not talkin’ to her, and for whatever that was about some society ladder.”
“How did you hear about a society ladder?”
“Izzie used to talk to herself a lot. She said somethin’ about it was just as well you were so mad at her ’cuz she’d never know for certain if you wanted her around for herself or for a society ladder, but I don’t know what that means.”
A sliver of regret slid through him. He’d been so indignant about what
he’d felt were her blatant lies that he’d not actually allowed himself to consider the reasoning behind why she’d withheld the truth from him for so long.
She’d told him she just wanted him to continue treating her like a normal woman, and she’d evidently convinced herself that he would begin treating her differently because of his well-known goal of wanting to marry a lady of high society.
The only problem with that, though, was that he no longer cared about society. He’d felt emptier somehow after leaving Miss Moore’s ball, even though his reputation was still intact. What he cared about instead was the welfare of the children he had made officially his, Aunt Birdie and Uncle Amos, the people of Canonsburg, the men who needed him to represent them, and . . . Izzie.
Izzie was important to him.
He lifted his head right as Prim, Violet, and Daisy walked slowly into the room, their little faces pale and their expressions solemn.
“See, I told you,” Henry whispered as Ian got up from his chair and motioned for the girls to join him.
“Henry has just asked me for a favor,” he began.
“He wants permission to teach Buttercup how to walk up the stairs?” Prim asked.
“No, it’s far more important than that, but just to be clear, Buttercup really is going to have to stop being allowed in the house.”
“She’s lonely without her friends from the farm,” Violet said as her little lip began to tremble. “Just like we’re lonely ’cuz we’re missin’ Izzie.”
Lifting Violet up into his arms, Ian placed a kiss on her forehead and smiled at Prim and Daisy, who’d joined Henry and were watching him somewhat warily.
“I’m missing Izzie too,” he admitted. “Which is why I’m going to grant Henry’s request. We’re going on a trip, one to see if we can convince Izzie to come home, but—” he caught Henry’s eye—“Buttercup is going to have to stay behind.”
Chapter 36
By the time Ian arranged to have a Pullman car attached to a train that was headed directly to New York City, and managed to get the children, Aunt Birdie, Uncle Amos, Miss Olive, and Jonathon packed, entire hours had disappeared. It had also taken hours to get to New York, even with the train making no stops as it trundled through the night. Finally, though, with his pocket watch displaying the time as being close to noon, they’d reached their destination.