by Tamara Gill
His hand clasped her hip, and their eyes met. Moments ticked by as neither of them moved, neither one of them sure of what to do next, although they both knew what they wanted…
“Merrick…” His name floated from between her lips, pleading for him to do the right thing.
He stepped back, bowing. “Good night, Isolde.”
She left without a further word. Her gaze blurred with unshed tears as she raced to her room. On such a day as this, how could she long for Merrick to kiss her? A widower of less than a week and she, too, newly engaged. She ought to know better and, from this night on, she would be a better person. The woman her father brought her up to be—a duke’s daughter who acted with grace and decorum and was always above reproach or scandal.
…
Merrick stood in the quiet room, demanding his feet not to move one inch. He wanted to go to Isolde, to lose himself in her comfort, her kind words, and truthful wisdom. Now, more than ever, he wanted to take back what was rightfully his. What had been ripped from his future five years ago.
But he could not.
He clenched his fists at his side, commanding himself to get hold of his emotions. She was marrying his lifelong friend. Not that Wardoor was so much of a friend now. Certainly, not after finding out that he was possibly the father of his daughter. But what he’d said to Isolde was true. He did not deserve love. He’d been the worst of husbands, had pushed his wife to the life she’d lived, and now she was dead. It was beyond forgivable.
He was the worst of men.
Merrick walked to the settee and slumped into the cushioned seat. He would, however, talk to Wardoor about the accusation Leonora had laid at his friend’s feet. Not that he could do much about the fact, nor did he wish to. Lily was his and would be raised as a duke’s daughter. But it didn’t mean he wouldn’t seek retribution as to Wardoor’s conduct toward his wife. Nor would he allow the fiend to marry Isolde under such circumstances. Isolde deserved better than both of them and, devil take it, he would make sure she got her happy ever after.
Chapter Fourteen
The next few weeks in Town were filled with dress fittings for the wedding and planning for the nuptials. Isolde’s siblings threw themselves into the arrangements, ordering the most beautiful flowers, talking to tradesmen about pavilions and placements around the London townhouse’s lawns. How large the wedding breakfast would be and how many invitations had been agreed to.
They were to travel abroad and visit Paris after the wedding. It was all so delightful for those about her, and Isolde allowed them to pull her into their excited expectations of great things to come, but, after each day was done, and Isolde lay abed at night, her heart ached for someone else.
Images of Merrick at Mountshaw the last time they were alone together haunted her every waking hour and even her sleeping ones, too. This severing from Merrick was made worse by the fact that Wardoor hadn’t been helping at all in relation to the planning of the wedding. Yes, they had signed contracts and he’d had the banns called. A license was procured, but he was distant, uninterested, almost a different man to the one who had courted her only weeks ago.
Isolde wondered at his change of character as she stared out at the garden square before their London home. Their marriage was not a love match, they had both agreed to that, but surely he should’ve been a little interested in the day’s planning, at least with input on how many and who would attend.
And tonight she was determined to find out exactly what was going on and if he was regretting his decision. A fact she silently hoped for, as she was certainly regretting her hasty answer to his marriage proposal.
The sound of her sisters coming down the stairs, and their mama calling out orders to the servants, brought her attention back to the ball they were to attend this evening. Isolde gathered her dance card and fan and went to meet them in the foyer.
“Are you well, my dear? You seem distracted,” her mother asked, walking with her out to the carriage. Isolde stepped up into the equipage, her mother seating herself beside her.
“I’m concerned, Mama. Wardoor has been distant since the house party, and I’m not sure why.”
“Do not concern yourself, my dear,” her mother said, patting her leg. “Now that he has gained your hand, he’s just celebrating his good fortune. I’m sure he’s not being purposefully removed.”
“Hmm,” Isolde murmured, not totally convinced. “Even if he should celebrate, why stay away from me? And Anne said she ran into him on Bond Street a few days ago and said he seemed odd, even to her. Distant and nervous for reasons unknown. Do you think he’s regretting his choice of bride?”
The duchess laughed, shaking her head. “Don’t be absurd. Wardoor has courted you since your return from Scotland. I did hear his mother has come to town for the Season, so he may be a little distracted with her.”
Isolde started, having not known that. “When did the marchioness arrive?”
“Two weeks past now,” her mother said, checking the set of her hair.
Isolde frowned. “Then why hasn’t he introduced me to her? As his betrothed you’d think it would be the first thing he’d want to do.”
“He’s a man, Isolde. Need we say any more?” Alice said, interjecting her opinion into their conversation.
“I agree,” Victoria said, her voice droll. “Gentlemen of our set are nothing if not stupid and unaware of what is expected of them. It often makes me wonder if some of them have any common sense at all.”
“Come girls,” the duchess interjected. “You are being very harsh and unfair.” She caught Isolde’s hand. “I would suggest you speak to his lordship and ask him. Do not worry yourself sick that it’s this or that, but find out for certain why he’s shying away from you. As his betrothed you have every right to ask him such things.”
Isolde nodded. “You’re right, and I will do it tonight. Thank you, Mama.”
The carriage ride was of short duration, but the line into the ball was long and arduous, and by the time they entered the ballroom, the event was already in full swing.
She looked about the room and spotted Wardoor at the opposite end, an assembly of men about him, and by the looks of their animated faces, the conversation was holding all their interest.
Alice threaded her arm through hers, and they strolled along the outside of the dancers. “You don’t seem yourself, my dear. Are you worried about talking to Wardoor?”
Isolde blew out a frustrated breath, loving and hating that her little sister was so apt at reading her emotions. “I’m sure it’ll turn out to be nothing, but his actions are bothering me, and have been for some weeks.” But when she’d spoken to her family in the carriage, there was another point she hadn’t told them, and Isolde wasn’t sure if she should say anything now.
“What is it?” Alice pulled her beside a window and, looking about, lifted the pane a little to allow the night air inside. Isolde was glad of the cooling breeze as the room, full to its capacity, was stifling.
“It’s something that Leonora said to me only a few days before she passed away,” Isolde whispered, not wanting anyone to hear what they were talking about.
“What did she say?” Alice frowned. “Not that I really care as to what she had to say, for deceased or not, I cannot forgive her.”
Isolde smiled, taking her sister’s hand. She understood the hatred Alice held toward the duchess. Isolde had experienced it, too, for years, in fact. If only she could do over her time in Scotland, she would’ve gone to Town after her separation from Merrick and married straightaway. She would have had the children she’d longed for and Leonora and her trickery be damned. All those years wasted, when she could’ve been a mother instead. But the duchess was gone now, and one shouldn’t speak ill of the dead. “Leonora hinted that I didn’t know Wardoor as well as I thought. When she said such things I assumed she was just being catty, wishing to hurt me in any way she could, but now I’m not so sure. I think she was trying to tell me something without stating
it directly. And now, with his distance, I can’t help but think her words had some basis to them.”
“About Wardoor?” Alice looked across the room to where her betrothed stood. “What’s to know? He’s a rogue, which you knew already, but, as this isn’t a love match, that doesn’t signify. His lordship is handsome, from a good family. He wants you, and no one else, as his wife. What else is there to know?”
As her sister pointed out all his attributes in such a callous way, Isolde inwardly cringed. That was certainly not how a woman should choose a husband, but it would seem she had. For when there was no love involved, only friendship or cordiality between a pair, what else was left to explain such unions?
“Leonora seemed to be laughing about a secret that I did not know, and now, well…” She paused, biting her lip. “You must agree that since the day I agreed to the marriage, Wardoor’s been remote. He no longer calls and has not asked for any information regarding the wedding. It’s so different as to how he’d been acting before I said yes.”
Alice held up her hands to halt her words. “Leonora hated you and would do anything to place doubt in your mind. To me, Wardoor sounds like a normal, everyday lord who graces our Society. As I said in the carriage, one who lacks in smarts, like most of those surrounding us.” She shrugged. “A boring, self-serving rogue. In fact, I’m surprised you’re balking at him no longer paying court to you. You should probably get used to such goings-on, as it’s pretty much what happens in a tonnish marriage.”
Isolde slumped against the wall, heedless to those who noted a duke’s daughter standing in such a way. “I must speak to him and see what the meaning is behind his behavior, or I’ll never rest. For surely, even as friends, if you were betrothed, you would call, no?”
“Well, you would assume, but Wardoor may not. Do not forget, he’s been living for years as a bachelor and, as mama said, now his parent is living with him. His life is probably upset.” Her sister laughed. “Once he’d been able to act upon whatever took his fancy. Now that you’ve said yes, and he has the assurance that you will meet him at the end of the aisle come your wedding day, he probably believes the courtship dance between you is no longer necessary. He’s starting the betrothal as he means to go on in your marriage.”
Not that his courtship dance was required or wished for, but to have all contact severed when finally betrothed was odd. Isolde was not convinced. She was missing something, and before she said “I do” she would find out exactly what that was. “I think I shall still speak with him.”
Alice took a glass of champagne from a passing footman and took a large sip of the sweet drink. “I think you shall find that Wardoor is merely distracted and likely to be acting the man he was born to be. A little dumb and forgetful of his obligations.”
Isolde chuckled. “You are the most forward-speaking woman I know, and I love you for it. I knew you would speak the truth. Do not ever change, not for anyone.”
Alice grinned. “I shall not.”
Isolde looked toward Wardoor and noted the gentlemen he spoke with were dispersing, some going out to dance while others wandered off to other members of their set. “I think this is my chance. I will let you know how it goes.”
Alice bade her good wishes, and Isolde persevered as patiently as she could as she worked her way through the crush toward Wardoor. Coming up to him, he threw her a dismissing glance, and the concern she’d been feeling these past days doubled. What is going on?
“Good evening, my lord.” She smiled to temper her tone, which, even to her own ears, sounded annoyed. “I’m glad I’ve found you through this crush. I have not seen you in quite some time.”
Wardoor’s attention took in her face, her gown, before lazily coming to meet her gaze. His eyes were unfocused and glassy, as if he’d partaken in too much wine or spirits. “I’ve been much busy elsewhere, but I should imagine you are, too. What with our wedding to organize.”
“Hmm, yes, I’ve been busy.” She looked out toward the dancers, her temper simmering to a boil at his bored tone. “I thought I would’ve seen you at the Duchess of Moore’s funeral. Your non-attendance was quite a shock.”
“My friendship with Moore is at an end, as you can well understand, considering our understanding. And as for paying my respects to the late duchess, well, I cannot bring myself to care much for her departure from this world.”
Isolde raised her brow at His Lordship’s words. Even she, who had been horribly mistreated by Leonora, had forgiven her. The loathing in Wardoor’s words seemed unfounded…unless he was hiding something. Was that something what Leonora had been trying to tell her?
But at a ball was not the time to delve into such an inquiry. Isolde cleared her throat. “When will we expect you to call? I wish to discuss some important matters with you.”
“Soon, my dear, if you’ll allow me to address you as such.” His words were slurred and he smelled of hard liquor. “I so look forward to our marriage and our wedding night.” He winked, and Isolde narrowed her eyes.
She watched as he took another glass of brandy from a passing footman, saluting her with the amber liquid before drinking it down in one gulp. There was something not quite right with his lordship, and with sickening dread Isolde couldn’t help but think it had nothing to do with the drink he held in his hand.
“I think it would be best if we were to spend a little time together before we’re married. You’ve been acting quite the stranger these past few weeks.”
He rolled his eyes, dismissing her concerns. What is wrong with the man?
“Alas, it shall not be tonight, as I have another more pressing event to attend. A private party by strict invitation only, you understand, but I’m willing to call later in the week, if that would suit you.”
Isolde resolved to find out what was going on. “Well then, I hope you have a pleasant evening, my lord.” She dipped into a curtsy, before making her way back toward Alice.
Her sister took her shaking hands. “I’ve made a terrible mistake.” Again, another gentleman from her set was about to make a fool of her. And worse was, if she married Wardoor she would have to live with that mistake for the rest of her life. It was not to be borne.
“What did he say?” Alice looked back to Wardoor and then to her. “What did he do?” She pulled her over to some vacant chairs, and they sat. “Tell me everything.”
Isolde didn’t know where she should begin. “For starters, he’s drunk beyond anything I’ve ever seen in a gentleman. He couldn’t have sounded less enthused to stay here and spend time with me, and he didn’t even ask me to dance! He even seemed bored by my request for him to call.” Tears threatened, and she swallowed the lump in her throat. The contract may have been signed, but she was a sister to a duke, and nothing was irreversible until she actually married him.
Alice nodded, a slight frown between her brows. “Perhaps in an hour or so he’ll sober up a little and you’ll be able to have a proper, adult conversation.”
“I think not,” Isolde said, shaking her head. “He’s not staying at the ball. In fact, His Lordship made it perfectly plain that he had other events to attend. Events that were private and strictly by invitation only. I can’t help but feel he was being coy and yet sarcastic at the same time, like he was laughing at me not knowing the truth behind his impending party.”
“Surely you must be wrong. He was so set on gaining your hand. His feelings and words seem so out of character—almost like he’s a different man altogether.”
It was exactly what he was like, very similar to how Leonora had behaved in Society at times. Pretty face, beautiful clothing and jewels, but with a mouth and reactions that were crass, without thought, and cutting in the extreme.
“I’m willing to marry a man who attends his clubs, has a mistress even; so long as in Society I’m given the respect that is due to me as a wife and a daughter of a duke. But I will not be made a fool and treated like an annoying fishwife who’s dismissed and ignored. Tell Mama that I have a m
egrim of some sort and that I’ve returned home. I do not need looking in on.” Isolde had to see what he was about. Leonora had hinted at something, and she was determined to find out, now, before it was too late.
She stood, and Alice clasped her hand, halting her steps. “Where are you going? I don’t like the sound of this.”
“I’m going to follow Wardoor to his party and see for myself what he’s up to. If I cannot get the truth from him, I shall see it with my own eyes.”
“Are you truly going to follow him? You’ll stand out, dressed in a ball gown.”
“No, I’ll change and return here. From his tone it seems he’s happy to stay at the ball for a little time longer, and I know which carriage is his. I’ll hire a hackney to wait across the street until he leaves.”
Alice stood and walked her toward the entrance foyer. “What if something happens to you? We won’t know where you are. I don’t think you should go.”
Isolde’s attention snapped to her betrothed, now lounging against a wall, a delicate little debutante with cheeks the color of a red rose, speaking with him. The poor girl looked shocked and a little out of her depth. “I know I said I would marry for convenience, not love, and I’m fine with that choice. But I cannot marry a man whose temperament is so changeable. I feel something is happening with him that I’m not aware of, but Leonora was. I have to know the truth of his character.”
“I don’t know why the troublemaking wench just didn’t tell you what it was. Leonora was always so willing to strike at you in any other way. It makes no sense.”
Isolde realized that, in a way, it did. For if Leonora was aware of Wardoor’s secret, it was just another attempt to laugh at her. Once married, there would be no turning back. And had Leonora not died, she would’ve thrown that fact into Isolde’s face at any opportune moment.
Isolde summoned her pelisse and waited while the family carriage was brought around. “I will be home well before dawn.” Her sister’s unease was palpable, and she hugged her quickly. “All will be well, darling, and by tomorrow I shall know what to do, I promise.”