The unfortunate circumstances surrounding your departure from England are beyond regrettable. I alone shoulder the full responsibility for your exile. Therefore, I extend the full measure of my support by any means necessary to facilitate your repatriation or whatever else you may desire.
Yours,
Monthwaite
Isabelle swallowed. Dear to us both.
Marshall would have found Justin regardless; this she did not doubt. He was a true gentleman, and he brought Justin back. For her. For Justin, too, of course, but he had her in mind. There is one friend in particular, dear to us both …
She missed him so much. He haunted her waking thoughts. He dwelt in her dreams. He made love to her in those dreams, sometimes tenderly, sometimes urgently, always passionately. She daydreamed about the children they might have had, but when she opened her eyes again, her arms were empty. But not her heart. It was always full of pain and longing. The longing was her constant companion. It never went away.
“Isa?”
Isabelle opened her eyes. Justin knelt on the floor in front of her. “Are you all right? You look faint.”
He picked up one of her hands and lightly slapped her wrist.
“Everything’s gone wrong,” she whispered.
“Monthwaite?”
Isabelle nodded miserably.
“Did he suitably atone for the divorce?” he asked.
“He had an article printed in the paper.”
Justin whistled. “Sounds serious.”
“It was,” Isabelle answered. “But I don’t know if I can trust him. He hurt both of us — ”
“But he’s made up for it,” Justin pointed out. He patted her cheeks. “You still look pale.”
She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. “There was someone else.”
Justin’s face darkened. “Another woman?”
Isabelle shook her head. “No, there was another man whose life Marshall ruined.”
“Ruined is a strong word.” Justin lifted her chin with a finger. “You suffered, Isa. I did, too. But I wouldn’t say my life was ruined.” One side of his mouth pulled up in a lopsided smile. “To be sure, it’s taken some unexpected twists, but I’m happy. And it turns out he didn’t even send me packing to begin with — his mother did, and we already knew she was a harpy.”
Isabelle’s shoulders jostled with her exhaled laugh.
“I do note,” Justin said, “that he takes responsibility, even though his mother sent threats in his name. Very stand-up of him. And,” he raised a finger, “when Monthwaite learned of his mistake, he made it up to both of us, didn’t he?”
She nodded again.
“You loved him then,” Justin said quietly, “when you were an eighteen-year-old girl. You still love him.” It wasn’t a question, and Isabelle didn’t try to deny it.
“Do you know whether he’s remedied things with this other man?” Justin asked.
Isabelle’s fingers tightened around Justin’s. Her brow furrowed. “He has,” she admitted. Her lower lip trembled. “Oh, Justin. I think I made a mistake.”
• • •
“Good God! Justin Miller!”
Isabelle looked up and Justin awkwardly turned on his knees. Lily stood in the door in a royal blue traveling costume, her fingers paused in the act of untying her bonnet. She looked from Justin to Isabelle, and back to Justin again.
“My word, are you proposing?”
Justin barked a laugh. “I don’t think my wife would thank me if I did.” He hauled himself to his feet.
“I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow. Justin was trying to keep me from fainting,” Isabelle explained, rising to take Lily’s hands in greeting. “It was something of a shock to find him in my parlor,” she said in an over-bright voice. “He brought his lovely wife and daughter, too. They’ve gone for a walk. I’ll have them called in, shall I? Mrs. Miller is American, Lily. Our Justin went and married an American!”
Lily raised a lace-gloved hand. “Isabelle,” she said in a stern tone, “the prospect of meeting Justin’s wife and child fills me to the brim with rapture, I assure you, but there’s something I have to tell you first.”
The commanding edge to her voice brought Isabelle’s frenetic recitation to a halt. The firm set to Lily’s mouth aroused a queasy feeling in Isabelle’s middle. “What is it?”
“I had a note from Naomi yesterday afternoon, and I left as soon as I could to reach you.”
Pure, unadulterated fear sprang up in her very blood, coursing through every inch of her. “Marshall. What’s happened to him?”
“He’s leaving tomorrow,” Lily said. “He’s going to South America.”
Isabelle shook her head, not understanding. “His expedition. I already knew about that.”
“It’s supposed to be only for six months, but Naomi found notes indicating he never intends to return.”
The final bit of color drained from Isabelle’s face. “Tomorrow?” she whispered harshly. The full meaning of Lily’s information pressed down on Isabelle like a load of stone. A life without Marshall. Forever.
“Isabelle!” Lily snapped. “Listen to me.”
Isabelle lifted her head from where it had fallen against Justin’s shoulder.
“It’s time to come clean,” Lily said. “Naomi and I have been keeping an eye on you two, hoping you’d come ’round on your own. It appears you’re both bull-headed ninnies who would rather be miserable and alone for the rest of your natural lives, rather than simply put the past behind you and move on.” She drew a deep breath and lifted a brow.
Isabelle had seen her take such a tack with others, but she herself had never felt the full brunt of Lily Bachman’s ire. It was not a pleasant experience.
“Buck. Up. You love Marshall. He loves you. And if you don’t do something about it right this instant, I shall be subjected to your insufferable malaise for the rest of my days. Spare me that fate, and do the right thing.” She glanced at the clock on the mantle. “If you aren’t already too late to get there before the ship sails.”
Isabelle grabbed Lily in a fierce embrace. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me,” Lily said in a softer tone, “go. Go!” she insisted, shooing Isabelle out of the parlor.
As she dashed for the stairs, Isabelle heard Lily behind her: “And just where in the blazes have you been all these years?”
Isabelle’s fingers shook as she changed into a traveling costume. She had to get to Marshall. She had to tell him she’d forgiven him, that she loved him, even if he wouldn’t take her back. But she couldn’t allow that possibility in her mind. Everything would work out. She just had to get there.
Chapter Twenty-three
Isabelle gracelessly stumbled out of the carriage Lily had loaned her. The footman caught her with a steadying hand under her elbow.
She took a few steps, her bunched muscles protesting and cramping. They’d stopped only to change horses. Her blue-gray traveling gown was hopelessly rumpled. She felt sticky all over from her long confinement.
Now that she was at the London docks, trepidation tugged at her skirts. The sights, sounds, and smells were overwhelming. The docks teemed with activity, and dawn had scarcely broken. Large men lugged crates and trunks up gangways. Raucous laughter erupted here and there, punctuating the ceaseless, dull roar of hundreds of voices.
The water of the Thames was scarcely visible from Isabelle’s vantage point. From where she stood, the river was a forest full of branchless trees with sails instead of leaves. Ships crowded the docks and waited in the river. Somewhere nearby, the hulks were anchored in the middle of the river — whole ships full of convicted thieves and murderers.
Even at this hour, prostitutes lurked at the fringes of activity, calling out to passing men. At the mouth o
f an alley, a man lay face down in a pool of vomit, a bottle of gin clutched in his hand. Isabelle couldn’t tell whether he was dead or alive, and no one else seemed to notice or care.
She shivered. This was no place for a lady. Reason shouted at her to climb back into the safety of the carriage and send the footman for Marshall.
This time, though, she had to let her heart take the lead. She had hurt him when she’d left, and she had to be the one to reach out and find him. She selfishly wanted to see the look on his face when he saw her.
He wouldn’t ever see her, however, if she remained planted next to the carriage, gawking at the bustling activity. He would be gone, forever beyond her reach, if she didn’t start moving.
With a shaking hand, she pulled from her reticule the paper Lily had given her. On it was the name of Marshall’s ship.
“Adamanthea,” she muttered. She looked at the ship closest to where she stood. The name painted on the hull was Siren’s Call. Isabelle scowled and took a few steps. A hand clamped around her upper arm. She shrieked.
“Wouldn’t you like me to go with you, ma’am?” Lily’s footman asked. “Miss Bachman would have my head if any harm came to you.”
Isabelle nodded gratefully. Together, they plunged into the morass of humanity moving across the docks and quays.
She allowed the footman to do most of the talking, asking for directions to Marshall’s ship. The first several brutes he questioned claimed ignorance. Another sent them toward the East India Company’s private docks. Yet another seaman sent them back in the direction from which they had just come.
The sun was fully above the horizon now. Isabelle stomped her foot and let out a strangled cry of frustration. She had come all this way at a breakneck pace to find Marshall, and now she was going to lose him forever because she couldn’t locate his bloody ship.
“Excuse me,” she called out to a nearby man holding a horse by the bridle, carefully guiding the animal through the crowd. He didn’t notice her. Isabelle tapped his shoulder. “I’m looking for the Adamanthea,” she said. “Do you know where it is?”
The man turned, revealing a weathered, hard face. Isabelle sucked in her breath. Thomas Gerald tugged the brim of his cap. “Indeed I do; I’m headed there m’self,” he said amicably. A flash of recognition crossed his face.
Isabelle backed away, looking over her shoulder for the footman.
“Please,” Gerald extended a staying hand, “me and His Grace have settled our differences. Why,” he said, pulling himself erect, “I’m going with him to South America as master of the horse.” He smiled proudly.
Isabelle returned his smile weakly. It seemed they had made their peace after all. And more, the former convict could help her find Marshall.
“Where’s the ship?” Isabelle asked Thomas. “I have to see the duke.”
“Two ships down,” he answered.
Isabelle wheeled around to see where he pointed. She tsked in annoyance. “We passed it,” she said to the footman.
“Come on, then. I’ll walk with you.” Gerald gently tugged on the horse’s lead.
A dockhand stumbled into the horse, dropping a crate against its haunch. The already nervous animal reared up on its hind legs, flailing to escape. “Whoa now!” Gerald struggled to calm the horse. “Go on ahead,” he called over his shoulder. “I’ll be a few minutes here.”
Isabelle plowed through the crowd, not paying attention to whether Lily’s footman followed. Marshall was close. She had to find him, had to see him. The thought looped through her mind like a mantra, driving her forward.
Two guards stood at the foot of the gangplank. One of them put his arm across her path as she tried to step onto the ramp. “Stop there, miss.”
She huffed with impatience. “I’d like to board the ship, please.”
The great brute merely smacked his lips and shook his head. “Yer got papers to show me?”
Isabelle sniffed. “Papers? Why on earth do I need papers? I’m here to see the Duke of Monthwaite.”
“If yer ain’t got papers,” the guard replied, “then you got no bidness on this ’ere ship. Off you go, then.”
Isabelle gave first one guard, and then the other, her most dazzling smile. “Surely it’s nothing to you if I just step aboard for a moment. His Grace would not want you to bar my way.”
The other guard spat on the ground near her feet. “His Grace don’t want no thieves or whores on ’is ship. On your way.”
Isabelle’s mouth dropped open. “Why you despicable — ” She set her jaw and lifted her chin. She had not come all this way to be insulted into defeat by two unwashed ruffians. “You seem to have mistaken my identity. I am neither thief nor whore, and I’m done discussing the matter.” She took a step forward.
“Right, then,” said one of the guards. Each man roughly grabbed hold of one of her arms and began dragging her away from the ship.
“Let me go!”
Lily’s footman argued with the men, to no effect.
Marshall and another man emerged on the Adamanthea’s deck. “Marshall!” she called. Her voice was swallowed in the bustling din; he did not look her way. He and his companion began walking across the deck with their backs to Isabelle.
She desperately twisted in the grasp of the large guards.
“Gawd, she’s a wild one,” one of the men said. “Where’s a charley when we need one?”
Marshall was about to round the prow of the ship. If Isabelle lost sight of him now, she might never see him again. She gathered her breath and screamed his name. He turned. His brows snapped together when he spotted the ruckus taking place near his ship. Then he saw her, and his lips parted.
She nearly cried in relief. He’d seen her. It would be all right now.
Marshall strode the length of the deck and paused at the top of the gangway. The breeze tousled his hair. He wore no jacket over his ivory shirt and camel waistcoat, in spite of the cold morning. His brown breeches fit like a second skin. He was the most beautiful sight she’d ever seen.
“Hold,” he called. A single word in his commanding baritone was all it took to get the guards’ attention. “She can come up.”
Isabelle schooled her features into regal composure and arched a brow at her captors. They released her arms.
Her eyes were locked onto Marshall as she climbed the ramp to Adamanthea’s deck. Butterflies buffeted her stomach. She wanted so much to smile or laugh, but his fierce expression kept her on tenterhooks.
Marshall’s lips were drawn into a tight line, his guarded features betraying nothing. Was he not pleased to see her?
Maybe she shouldn’t have come. He didn’t want her anymore — she could see that now. She’d hurt him too badly. Too much time had passed.
Despite her uncertainty, her feet carried her forward. She stopped in front of him. Her hands twisted in the cord of her reticule, two white knuckled fists.
“Isabelle.” He nodded once. His pulse flicked beneath the skin of his throat. She longed to cover that place with her mouth.
She swallowed. “Hello, Marshall.” Whatever happened, she had to try. If he told her to leave, she would. But she could never live with herself if she didn’t try.
Without a word, he took her elbow and guided her across the deck. Sailors stepped out of the way as they passed.
They descended narrow steps into the belly of the ship. He opened a door and gestured. She stepped past him into a neat, small cabin. A bunk was built into one wall. A desk was nailed to the floor against the opposite wall, with a single wooden chair in front of it. His trunk stood open near the bunk. She glimpsed his shaving articles nestled atop a stack of snowy nightshirts.
“What do you want?” he asked, closing the door. He stood with his feet planted wide, his arms crossed across his chest.
She
took a deep breath. It was now or never. “You.”
Marshall flinched.
Isabelle laid her hand on his arm. His muscles tightened beneath her fingers. When she glanced up, he was looking at her hand.
“I saw Mr. Gerald,” she said. “Did you really give him a position?”
His jaw hardened. “I needed a competent master of the horse, and he just so happens to be the finest hand with horses I’ve ever seen. Is that why you’ve come — to discuss Mr. Gerald?” She detected a note of hurt in his voice, and his piercing eyes bored straight into her core. “This ship sails in two hours,” he said. “I’m extraordinarily busy.”
“No.” Isabelle gripped his arm. “No, of course I haven’t come to discuss Mr. Gerald. I came because … ” Her courage began to flag.
He arched a brow, and she caught the faintest hint of a smile at the corners of his lips.
“I love you,” she blurted. She turned away and tossed her reticule onto the bed.
Marshall crossed the cramped cabin in a couple steps. He turned the chair around and sat down, crossing his ankles. “This sounds more interesting than Thomas Gerald,” he drawled.
Isabelle bit her lip. She sat on the edge of the bed with her fingers curled around the side rail. “I’ve been perfectly miserable these last few months. I thought I could be happy on my own, but I’m not.”
“You’re respectable again,” Marshall pointed out. “I hear you have the ladies’ committee well in hand.”
Isabelle started. “Ah,” she raised her brows, “Naomi. Who must’ve had it from Lily. They’ve been conspiring behind our backs, you know.”
“I find I am not surprised in the least.”
“Justin came home,” Isabelle said. “He showed me the letters he received.”
“Mother again.” Marshall gave her a pained look. “She’s staying in the country, perhaps for a very long time.”
Isabelle winced. “I’m sorry it had to come to that.”
Time After Time Page 233