Realm 07 - A Touch of Honor

by Regina Jeffers

  Lady Swenton smiled easily at the man, and it did Isolde good to observe the small changes in her mistress. “It was magnificent,” the baroness concurred. “It was my tenth birthday, and you had presented me with a new saddle.” Wistfulness filled Lady Swenton’s tone. “The mist reached the horses knees, and it became imperative for us to walk them off the peak for fear they might step over the edge without knowing it.”

  “If we had not known the way so well, it would have been a dire situation. I was quite proud of you. You handled yourself magnificently. I recall how you kept saying we were walking in the clouds. For the next couple of years, every time it rained, you wished to return to the peak to relive the moment.”

  “It was one of my most favorite days,” Lady Swenton had confessed quietly.

  “My most favorite were those times when my dearest girl snuck into my quarters and climbed into my bed to know the comfort of her uncle’s embrace,” Baron Ashton added with an equally pensive expression.

  Lady Swenton’s cheeks pinked. “I was a foolish child, one afraid of the characters in a children’s book.”

  Ashton said honestly, “If I had any inclination that in children’s books the parents often died, I would have burned every one of them. You had suffered enough with the loss of your parents and then the separation from your sisters. It was I who was foolish not to peruse the book before I read it to you.”

  “You offered me the comfort I required. When I was with you, the Troll King and his followers could not reach me. Your bed was so much higher than mine.”

  Ashton lovingly patted the back of her hand. “Yes, I recall searching for the trolls under your bed more than once, but you eventually overcame your fears.”

  Lady Swenton had looked off as if she searched for something not there. “Not so,” she said simply. “Nanny Phoebe forbid me to disturb your sleep with my presence. She threatened to take a belt to my backside if I did not abandon my fears.”

  Ashton sputtered, “If I had known, I would have sent the old bag packing. I would never tolerate anyone raising a hand of violence to you. You should have told me.”

  Lady Swenton shrugged, “It is of no significance. Although, even now, when my dreams take a twisted slant, I will admit to the return of the trolls. I am often running and running, attempting to escape them. It is quite humbling to know childhood fears can remain with someone for life.” Isolde considered her mistress’s confession a very telling moment. The baroness’s fears were plentiful.

  Thornhill and the duchess often joined the pair, and Ashton would assume the role of the chronicler of family history. From what she overheard, Isolde had discovered the name of the baroness’s and duchess’s mother: Lady Chenille Aldridge, Viscountess Averette. The lady had been Ashton’s youngest sister. The girls’ father, Edward Aldridge, who served as the namesake for the duke’s son, had married the former Miss Morton and had quickly set up his family in Edinburgh, where Aldridge held his viscountcy. Meanwhile, the baron’s wife, Baroness Louisa Morton, had been a distant cousin of Thornhill’s mother, Amelia Fowler. The connections among the English aristocracy never ceased to amaze Isolde.

  What did not change dramatically had been Lady Swenton’s eating habits; yet, Isolde thought progress had occurred. Although the baroness had quite adeptly moved her food about her plate as if she had consumed each course set before her, only a few bites of each dish passed the lady’s lips. Even so, Isolde had looked upon her mistress’s return to good humor as a sign of happier days for the baroness and Lord Swenton. The return of hope also had fired Isolde’s “itch” to depart for Ireland to discover a future without Baron Swenton in her thoughts. It was useless for her to remain in a household where she preferred her master to her mistress. However, those hopes were quickly dashed when Isolde came upon Sally and Judith in a heated discussion regarding their mistresses.

  “I tell you, Lady Swenton is of a more delicate nature than is the duchess,” Sally declared loyally.

  Judith, who had served Velvet Fowler since the duchess had first come to live with the Fowlers and who had seen her household status rise substantially with Velvet Aldridge’s marriage to the duke, snarled her nose in disbelief. “You assume your mistress’s slight appearance indicates her fragile nature. Everyone knows a duchess is superior in every way.”

  “Is the duchess’s constitution so sensitive that even the slightest change in Her Grace’s meals sends her in search of her chamber pot?”

  “Certainly not!” Judith said with incredulity.

  Sally flounced away. “Exactly. Lady Swenton knows such a tender disposition.”

  Isolde’s heart sank: Lady Swenton’s obsession had continued. Isolode did not know what to do. Should she inform the duchess? Speak to Baron Ashton? As the baroness’s companion, Isolde held no right to intervene in Lady Swenton’s private life. Surely, the baroness’s family could recognize the crisis: Could look upon Lady Swenton’s appearance and note the girl’s extremely thin stature. But such a supposition held no value. A decision made, Isolde returned to her quarters. She would wait for Baron Swenton’s return–inform the baron of her concerns–and leave the baroness’s troubles to the lady’s husband. Baron Swenton would be more receptive to her opinions than would Baron Ashton or the Duchess of Thornhill.

  *

  “The duchess and I plan to return to Kent on Monday,” Thornhill announced as the household gathered in the late afternoon for the daily ritual of the duke and duchess’s sharing moments with young Edward Fowler. “If you have a mind to do so, you are welcome to join us, Ashton. I am certain the duchess would enjoy more time with her uncle.”

  Isolde glanced up from her book to observe Lady Swenton’s reaction to Thornhill’s news. Although the duke’s party had taken in regular entertainments, a ball had been avoided since the baron had escorted his niece from the crush at Lady Thomas’s home. Although no one consulted her opinion, Isolde had assumed Thornhill and the baron had purposely executed the choices of social engagements.

  Lady Swenton stiffened. “And what becomes of me?” Her tone spoke of the lady’s lack of knowledge regarding the change of residence.

  Thornhill’s frown lines met. “You will return to Thorn Hall to await Baron Swenton’s reappearance.”

  Lady Swenton snarled, “So you and my uncle have decided my future?”

  The duchess said aristocratically, “You asked for a taste of the London Season while your husband tended to his mother’s loss. It is time you resumed your wifely duties.”

  “My husband has been absent a month,” the baroness asserted. “Given the first opportunity, Lord Swenton has proved his opinion of his wife.”

  Isolde wished to defend Lord Swenton. It was she who had convinced the baron to permit his wife time to become accustomed to her new position. However, she diverted her objections by jamming her nails into the palms of her hands.

  “True. Swenton has tarried, but it was at my suggestion. I begged Lord Swenton to permit me an opportunity to set my house aright. It was shocking to realize that during His Lordship’s absence you had proved yourself open to any number of trysts,” Ashton accused.

  Isolde recoiled from the barbs issued by Lady Swenton’s uncle. She could not believe the baron had spoken so coldly to his niece. Perhaps Isolde had misjudged the air of cordiality between the two. Venom filled the baroness’s tone. “As you did upon the Continent, you once again believe the worst of me, Uncle Charles.”

  “I believe my eyes. Your conduct at Lady Thomas’s evening did not speak well of you, Satiné.” His long fingers had tightened about his teacup. “You should know I am not easily made a fool. I took note of your brief encounter with Lord Morse at yesterday’s picnic, and as to the Continent, Rupert’s presence proves my objections held merit.”

  Isolde’s eyes grew large with disbelief. She had not observed Lady Swenton and Lord Morse together. How had she missed the exchange?

  “Am I a child, Uncle, to be spied upon and then chastised when found d
eficient?” Their eyes collided.

  Ashton spoke softly, the words choked with emotions. “You know I have rarely raised my voice to you in criticism, but you must understand I could never approve of your actions with Morse or your abandonment of Lord Swenton. The baron has offered you the protection of his name and his title. You owe him your allegiance, Satiné.”

  “I tire of hearing others sing Lord Swenton’s praises.”

  Isolde noted how the duke flinched. “I am not one to interfere with any man’s home,” he said coldly. “But there are few men finer than John Swenton. Perhaps, Sister, you would tire less of others if you would consider a kind word for the baron from your lips. I have heard your shrewish tongue call him foul names and make vile accusations. Think upon it. Swenton could have abandoned you to poverty and shame upon the Continent.”

  “The baron would never have turned his head from me. Look at the loyalty he has displayed for a woman who rejected him as her son. Surely his wife could know as much freedom as his mother. Moreover, I did not say I meant to ignore my position, only that I wish to know a bit more of Society before my retreat to the wilds of Yorkshire.”

  Ashton warned, “Swenton has the legal right to remove you from Town. He does not require your permission.”

  “And I have the guile to leave all of you behind.” Lady Satiné glared at her family trio. “It would be quite ironic if I disappeared. For each of you to know what it means to know a throwaway.”

  The duchess’s cheeks flushed with irritation. “What dispensation do you believe you have suffered?”

  “First our parents…” the baroness countered.

  The duchess hissed, “Yes, our parents! Yours and mine and Cashémere’s. We each suffered with the deaths of Edward and Chenille Aldridge. At least you were sent to Uncle Charles. Meanwhile, Cashémere knew the disabuse of Kentigerna Aldridge.”

  “And you came to the Fowlers,” Lady Swenton declared triumphantly. “Have you ever considered how it might have been either Cashémere or me as Thornhill’s duchess if the situation had been different?”

  The duke protested, vehemently. “I can assure you, Lady Swenton, I would never have chosen another, and, obviously, Lord Yardley’s heart knew the difference between you and your twin. A change of circumstances would never have brought you to my attention. What if’s are for schoolgirl dreams.”

  “Satiné, you speak with falsehoods,” Ashton remonstrated. “I have always done my best by you. You wanted for nothing.”

  “Except a mother’s love,” the girl sobbed. “I did everything to please you.” Lady Swenton’s bottom lip trembled, and Isolde wished to rush to her side and provide comfort. This family drama was difficult to watch. “To be the perfect niece, but you turned your back on me when I thought to find my way in the world. When you discovered me no longer flawless. You left me behind, just as did my parents, and as did Cashémere when my twin had claimed her earl. You thought more of outmaneuvering Uncle Samuel than you did for my safety.”

  Baron Ashton’s expression fell. “There is not a day goes by,” he said with self-chastisement, “that I do not rue the day I withheld what I knew of Samuel Aldridge.”

  “Yet, it was I,” the baroness spat the words, “who paid for your singularity. Uncle Samuel convinced Charters to claim husbandly privileges before the Scot dragged me before the anvil. Lord Averette did so not to punish me, but to vex you!” Isolde’s heart slammed into her ribs. Such duplicity changes a person forever.

  The duchess pleaded, “Do you not understand? It was Uncle Samuel who arranged for the carriage accident, which killed our parents?” Isolde quickly swallowed the gasp that rushed to her lips. She had never known such cruelty among family members. Her own brothers and cousins often had spats over insignificant events, but they were always strongly loyal to one another.

  Unabashed, Lady Swenton countered, “Yet, Samuel Aldridge has gone free, while my punishment continues.”

  Ashton said gruffly, as if drained emotionally by the confrontation, “Do you see your life with Baron Swenton as part of that retribution? My God, Satiné! Swenton risked his life to save you from the glass cone, and now he risks his reputation to protect yours. If you truly feel abused by your connection to our family, then castigate us, but release Swenton. Seek an annulment or a divorce.”

  No longer having the ability to contain her ire, Lady Swenton was on her feet. “Baron John Swenton! I tire of hearing of his goodness! You praise him as if the baron is some sort of saint.” She stormed away toward the bay of windows, and Isolde took the opportunity to make her escape through the door leading to the duchess’s dressing room; yet, she did not close the door completely. As unpredictable as Lady Swenton had been of late, Isolde meant to hear the rest. She would know Baron Swenton’s fate and warn him if his wife meant to make him a fool. “And I the sinner,” the girl finished bitterly.

  Baron Ashton rose to take Satiné into his embrace, but she skittered away from him. “No one despises you. Nor do we place all the blame upon your shoulders. We each know how you suffered from Lachlan Charters’s treachery.” He ran his fingers through his thinning hair. “Come home with me to Chesterfield Manor. We will start anew. Just you and me. I will send word to Swenton to dissolve the marriage.”

  Tears streamed down the girl’s cheeks. From where she looked on from the door’s hinged opening, Isolde recognized Lady Swenton’s pained loneliness. “Where would that particular resolution leave me? Not even worthy of being a baroness. Likely married off to a member of the gentry or a gentleman farmer in exchange for a hefty dowry. A position from where I can receive the pity of all those within the community. I think not, Uncle.”

  The duchess accused, “Then you mean to keep Lord Swenton at bay until you know someone more worthy? Does Lord Morse have so much to offer?”

  Defiantly, Lady Swenton’s fists came to her waist. “You have your duke secured, Duchess. You have no idea what the remainder of womankind must suffer. You are a silly chit, Sister Dear!” she snarled. “Have you forgotten, Morse is the heir to the Duke of Falkenberry.”

  “Until Falkenberry marries and produces an heir,” Thornhill corrected.

  “Everyone expects me to take another lover,” Lady Swenton flippantly declared. “I am a damaged commodity. If I must ply my favors, why not with the son of a duke?”

  Defeat swarmed Isolde’s chest. She did not believe Lady Swenton truly meant to accept Lord Morse’s insinuations, but she knew enough of the girl to recognize how if her family did not withdraw their objections, the baroness would act upon her threat. Her mistress was not of a weak resolve.

  The baron’s ashen expression darkened. “You speak of sexual favors as if you were a courtesan!”

  “Believe what you will, Uncle.” Lady Swenton turned on her heels to exit, but the duke stepped into her path.”

  “I will have no one speak such vile aspersions in my home. You will apologize to the baron and your sister this minute or leave my house immediately,” he demanded. “Family connection or not, I will not have you abuse my duchess under her roof.”

  Isolde knew the duke had erred in his estimation of his wife’s sister when Lady Swenton’s shoulders shifted stubbornly. “As I have said previously, this family has never accepted my decisions as viable. As you have instructed, Your Grace, I will set Sally to packing my bags.” The baroness did even afford the duke a curtsy of respect to signal her exit.

  “Wait!” the baron called. “Where will you go? You have a son for whom you must provide.”

  “A son I never…”

  Isolde whispered the word wanted to complete the baroness’s thoughts.

  “I shall not go to York if that is what you assume. I mean to enjoy London while I may.” The baroness shoved past the duke to jerk open the exterior door to duchess’s sitting room. Hiking her skirts, Lady Swenton stalked away. Realizing she must convince her mistress to change her mind, Isolde rushed through the dressing room to intercept the baroness in the passageway
. Bursting through the secondary door, Isolde expected to find her mistress striding toward her in a huff. Unfortunately, between Isolde and the girl was Mrs. Pleasance with Edward Fowler in her arms. Prior to the explosive conversation of a few moments earlier, the Thornhill nurse had been summoned to the duchess’s sitting room.

  In Satiné’s Swenton’s countenance, Isolde recognized the girl’s intent before she acted upon it. “No!” she cried, and from the opposite door, an echoing chorus called the same.

  Not understanding the baroness’s intent, their chorus of warnings brought Mrs. Pleasance to a stumbling halt, but the woman’s hesitation only played into the baroness’s blind ire. Anger coursing through the girl, she shoved the nurse from her path, knocking the nurse backward into an ornate table and candelabra. Mrs. Pleasance instinctively reached a hand to steady her stance, which sent the boy tumbling precariously from her arms.

  Isolde had had no time to consider the consequences: She dove for the boy–sliding along on a carpet runner upon the polished hardwood floor–her arms outstretched. Thunk! Somehow, she had caught the babe and rolled to her back. Clutching him tightly, young Edward’s cries filled her heart with joy.

  In the next instant, the duke was kneeling beside her. Without a word, he removed the child from Isolde’s stiff fingers and handed him to the hovering duchess. “Are you injured?” he asked breathlessly.

  Isolde’s heart raced, and she was certain more than one bruise had formed on her knees and elbows. “I have no notion,” she said in bewilderment. “Is the wee one well?”

  The duke looked to his wife. “Edward’s lungs have announced he does not wish to repeat the game his aunt practiced; however, my son does not appear to have touched the floor.”

  “I wish I could claim likewise,” Isolde said with an ironic chuckle.

  “Should I send for a physician?”

  Isolde shook off his offer. “Might you assist me to my feet?”

  The duke extended his hand. “If you ever require my service, you need only to ask. Edward has your quick actions to thank for saving him from what could have been a incapacitating injury.”